


Long Periods of Not Yet

by Hypocorismm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bed and breakfast au, Innkeeper Stiles, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Running Away, US Marshal Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypocorismm/pseuds/Hypocorismm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski is the young owner of Beacon Hills' only bed and breakfast, Berry Hill Gardens, and Isaac Lahey is an abused teenage runaway. Stiles gives Isaac shelter from the storm, and finds himself falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Off the beaten path on a secluded lane, our country bed and breakfast is located in the heart of Northern California near the town of Beacon Hills. Set in a restored farmhouse, Berry Hills Garden Bed and Breakfast overlooks 300 acres of gardens and woods, offers a great room with wood burning stove, wrap around porch and a full country breakfast served every morning.**

**We endeavor in every way to make your stay a comfortable and pleasurable one.**

 

Stiles had always liked the inn, ever since he was old enough to understand that he didn’t live in a regular home. His home was a safe spot for runaways, lovers, old couples, families, poets, even truckers on occasion. They stopped into his life for a day, maybe two, and then were gone. They told him their stories, left little trinkets behind, little marks on his life. When his mother died, the inn was left without its keeper.

“We can’t sell the inn, Dad. Mom wouldn’t want that,” eight year old Stiles begged, tears falling from his eyes. He tugged at the Sheriff- then Deputy’s sleeve and stared up at him with a plea in his eyes. “We can hire someone; I looked it up at school during recess! We can hire a manager until I’m old enough to take it over myself! Please, Dad. Don’t sell it.”

Hanna Brooks was an amazing manager, attentive to the dying business, keeping it open just for a growing Stiles while he excelled in school. She was like a cool aunt, Stiles thought as she attended his graduation, two years ahead of his class. She snuck him sips of her wine at dinner with the guests, even though the Sheriff was watching, and didn’t care as long as Stiles was being safe with it. She took him to see R-rated movies before he was allowed to, and picked him up early from school for “doctor’s appointments” so they could go to an amusement park. Hanna eased back on her duties after Stiles started classes at the local community college, and finally, just after he turned 17, handed over the business back to him. She kissed him on cheek, wished him luck, and moved on with her life, just like the guests at Berry Hill Gardens Bed and Breakfast had his entire life.

Stiles ran the inn, and his father protected the town, and nothing excited every occurred.

“That’s not true,” Scott had said, sitting in the kitchen with his chemistry and trigonometry homework. “You and Lydia finally worked your ridiculous problems out, and Allison’s father tried to poison me, and your father arrested that drug dealer on Pleasant Street.”

Stiles let out a long suffering sigh.

“Yeah, but that’s typical Beacon Hills news. That’s nothing new, nothing exciting.”

“You chose this, Stiles. You could’ve graduated early and gone to Berkeley, and been Tony Stark by age 25, but you wanted to run Berry Hills. You got your associate’s in small business management for this.”

“I love the inn, that’s not the problem. I’m just so bored of the same things going on day in and day out. I want some excitement! Where are my lost travelers and wizards with gaggles of hobbits?”

“You don’t live in Middle Earth,” Scott answered, scribbling the wrong answer to a trig question.

“Oh, you get my Lord of the Rings references but you can’t be bothered to watch Star Wars? You’re the worst best friend in the world.”

“I watched Battlestar Galactica for you, haven’t I suffered enough?”

“I can’t associate with you anymore, McCall,” Stiles said, turning to start dinner.

Two days later, though, Stiles got his excitement, his lost traveler, although there was no wizard with a gaggle of hobbits. Storms had blown in, and scared off any guests that might have travelled to the inn. He left the light on, though, just in case anyone needed a place to stay safe from the whipping winds and buckets of rain. He curled up in the reading room, his mother’s knit blanket around his legs while he devoured the new Heroes of Olympus book, ravenously turning the pages.

“Try to get to bed at a decent hour tonight, Stiles,” the Sheriff said, heading towards the back of the bed and breakfast to the two residential rooms reserved for the two of them. They shared a bathroom, once a double room overlooking the back gardens. The owners before them had lived in the small cottage in the middle of the gardens, but it had grown too small for the Stilinskis and they had moved into the inn’s back rooms. The cottage was now their honeymoon suite, although no one had ever booked it intentionally. It was a cute home, just a bit small for a family with a hyperactive child like Stiles.

“Yeah, goodnight, Dad,” Stiles called over his shoulder belatedly. He dug back into the book and lost himself, finding himself in the world of Greek and Roman demigods. He was just getting to the climax when a loud, frantic banging on the front door sounded through the bottom floor of the bed and breakfast. Stiles yelped, jumping to his feet in surprise. He tucked his bookmark, a fancy one that Melissa had bought him when he graduated from college, into the book and left it on the armchair. He grabbed the aluminum bat from the corner and edged the front door open cautiously.

He didn’t know what he expected, a big burly man, maybe, or a serial killer holding a severed head. A soaking wet teenage boy with a backpack on his shoulder that he had never seen around their small town was definitely not any of his guesses. The boy looked around nervously, clutching at the strap on his backpack.

“Hi,” Stiles squeaked out.

“I’m sorry, I saw your light was on, and was hoping I could come in. I don’t have any money, but I just need to dry off for a few minutes, hopefully the storm will pass soon,” the boy said and Jesus, Stiles thought, that voice was perfection.

“Come on in, always room for a soaking wet traveler at Casa Del Stilinski.”

“The sign says Berry Hill Gardens,” the boy said, skirting past Stiles as he opened the door wider.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Stiles chuckled, shutting the door gently. “I don’t think you’re grasping the premise of a bed and breakfast.”

The boy gave him a flat look, water dripping from his soggy curls.

“Right, well, I’m Stiles. Let me go grab you a towel and a change of clothes.”

“I have some in my, oh,” he said, peering into his bag. “They’re soaked too.”

“We have a dryer, if you want to toss your clothes in there,” Stiles said, bustling down the hall to the linen closet. He pulled out one of the bath towels, thick and fluffy and smelling of lilacs, just like his mother used to have. Some things had changed over the years since Claudia had died, but some things stayed the same, like the fabric softener and dryer sheets that Stiles washed the sheets and towels in, and the kind of chocolates he left on the pillows in each room (chocolate covered berries, to be precise).

“What’s your name?” Stiles asked, handing the towel to the kid and leading him into the laundry room underneath the stairs. He shuffled through his clean laundry, found his softest t-shirt and sweatpants, handing those over as well.

“Isaac,” the kid, Isaac answered. Stiles eased the bag from Isaac and dumped his sopping clothes into the front load dryer. When they’d invested in a new washer and dryer, Hanna urged him to let her get the industrial load pair, but Stiles would rather do load after load of laundry, for some insane reason. He liked how his washer and dryer handled sheets and blankets, softened them and made them smell like home. He wouldn’t give that up for convenience. That’s also why he insisted on washing all the dishes by hand, that and he needed something to keep his busy at night when his mind was too loud, even for him.

“Can I ask you a question, Isaac?” Stiles asked, keeping his back to Isaac as he stripped out of his clothes and stepped into Stiles’.

“Y-yeah, sure,” Isaac answered, handing his clothes to Stiles to throw in the dryer. He added a few Lilac Breeze dryer sheets to the compartment before shutting the door and starting it up on a quick dry cycle.

“What brings you to Beacon Hills? We don’t normally get runaways,” Stiles said.

“I’m not, I’m not a runaway!” Isaac yipped, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“You seem a bit young to be anything else,” Stiles said with a shrug, leading the boy out of the laundry room and into the kitchen. Isaac stood awkwardly, not responding as Stiles set the kettle on the stove and turned the burner all the way up. He spoke as he set up two mugs, both with a generous amount of hot chocolate powder at the bottom. “I’ve seen all kinds of travelers, living in a B&B my entire life, and no one usually shows up in the middle of the night with just a backpack and no money unless they’re running away from something.”

“How do you know my car didn’t break down?” Isaac asked. Stiles turned to face him, leaning against the counter.

“You would’ve asked to use my phone to call a tow truck. You, however, asked to come in from the storm, a sign that you’ve been walking with no relief from it. I’m not going to report you, just so you’re aware. That’s not my job. I can give you a place to stay for the night, though.”

“I don’t have any money to pay for a room.”

“Did I ask for money?” Stiles asked. The kettle whistled and the pair fell silent while Stiles finished fixing two cups of cocoa. “Do you like marshmallows in your cocoa?”

“Yes,” Isaac said.

“Good, because my dad does this thing where he like, overbuys. I don’t know why, but almost on impulse this week, he bought this huge bag of marshmallows because they were on sale or something. You’d think he was fourteen or something, not forty,” Stiles said, popping open the pantry door and finding the massive bag of mallows. “Although, I gotta hand it to him, he does know me well.”

“Why’s that?”

“I love me some marshmallows.”

Stiles plopped a literal handful of small marshmallows into each cup until a mountain was heaped on top of the liquid. He handed one mug to Isaac and slid into a stool at the island with his own.

“Does your dad own the bed and breakfast?” Isaac asked, sipping carefully at the cocoa while Stiles stirred his slowly, watching the mountain of marshmallows turn awkwardly in the cup.

“No, I do. I’m the owner and proprietor of Berry Hill Gardens Bed and Breakfast, although Dad does help out when he’s home. He’s not on the payroll, however. It’s just his home, too, so it’s either help out or deal with the mess.”

“You’re like 12, though,” Isaac said.

“I’m 17, thank you very much, and I have my associate’s degree in small business management.”

“Wow, that’s impressive. I don’t even have my high school diploma.”

Stiles shrugged.

“I’ve wanted to run the inn since I was 5, when my mom used to own it. I’ve had my eye on a business degree since I was old enough and I kind of fast-tracked myself through high school by taking summer school courses and overloading my schedule,” Stiles said with chuckle. “Coffee and Adderall, my two best friends. I’m still taking courses, actually, working towards my Bachelor’s.”

“That’s just amazing,” Isaac breathed. Stiles smiled. They finished their cocoa in peace, not saying another word to each other.

“I think I have the perfect room for you, Isaac,” Stiles said, taking their mugs and depositing them in the sink for him to wash later. “The Gooseberry Room, in fact. It’s got a queen bed, private bath with a tiled shower and Greek soaking tub, and it overlooks the North Gardens, which is to be honest, the best view we have. Although, you can’t see much through this rain.”

“Sounds expensive.”

Stiles smirked.

“There’s no one here to use it, so I’m not losing any revenue by loaning it out. Besides, I’ve got four other rooms, plus a honeymoon suite, in case anyone shows up in this storm.”

“Thank you,” Isaac said, catching Stiles’ arm. Stiles looked at Isaac and nodded.

“Come on, I’ll show you to your room. In the morning, I’m making our advertised full country breakfast, if you’re interested. And if you promise not to tell my dad, I’ll even make the full fat bacon.”

Isaac grinned back as Stiles led them up the stairs and down a long hallway to a mahogany door, _Gooseberry_ emblazoned on a gold plaque to the right of the door frame.

“This is it. I hope everything is to your liking, and just come get me if anything’s wrong. I’ll be right downstairs, behind the kitchen. Sleep well, Isaac.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Guest Room: 5/5**

**Services: 5/5**

**Value: 5/5**

**Cleanliness: 5/5**

**Dining: 5/5**

**Spectacular!**

I am always a bit hesitant when staying at B and B's, but WOW, is this one ever spectacular! The service is amazing, the rooms are beautiful and the bed is extremely comfortable, and the view is gorgeous. Stiles, the owner, is terrific. Made me feel extremely welcome from the moment I arrived. I highly recommend this house!!!

Stiles loved to cook. He’d helped Claudia in the kitchen since he was old enough to stir batter, although he developed a nasty habit of taste testing everything and not being hungry enough for his own meals. Although, as a teenage boy, that was rarely an issue anymore. But the point is, Stiles loved to cook. He had shelves full of simple cookbooks, mainly for when they had no guests and the Sheriff didn’t want anything elaborate, and even more shelves filled with complex recipe books. He collected them, like they’re little figurines he can display on a shelf; let them fill up their home from top to bottom. He printed them from websites, and ripped them from magazines. He scribbled his own designs into a thick three subject notebook from five years before, more than three-fourths filled. He visited the local farmer’s market for new and rare ingredients; hoarded spices like an old miser kept money, and tried something new every day.

He rose early, and started cooking. A full country breakfast is a lot of food, and it took time. Especially if you considered that on a full day, it consisted of bacon, fried eggs (or poached, if requested), ham, sausage, grits, home fries, toast, English muffins (bought from the local bakery every few days), bagels, waffles, pancakes, oatmeal, cinnamon rolls, biscuits, and a variety of fresh squeezed juices, as well as coffee and tea. Some nights, he passed out a questionnaire so he could make the right kinds of food, and make sure no one was a vegetarian, or lactose intolerant, or need gluten free options. Although, most people told him before hand, there had been some cases where guests were not forthcoming and pouted throughout breakfast.

For just himself, Isaac, and his father, he decided on waffles, bacon (turkey bacon for the Sheriff), and scrambled eggs with subtle herbs for flavor. He brewed a pot of extra strong coffee for the Sheriff, popped two Adderall into his mouth, and shuffled through the refrigerator looking for the pitcher of orange juice he squeezed the night before, before Isaac. He whipped the batter for the waffles together as he heard movements above him, and plopped two kinds of bacon onto the griddle as the floorboards squeaked in the backrooms.

Isaac emerged first, Stiles’ shirt rumpled across his chest as he rubbed sleepily at his eyes.

“The sun’s not even up,” he mumbled, falling without grace into one of the island barstools.

“No, and yet here you are.”

“I smelled coffee.”

“You and my father both, apparently,” Stiles commented as the Sheriff stumbled out as well, yawning wide. “Good morning, father mine.”

Sheriff Stilinski grunted, reaching almost blindly for the coffee pot.

“You’ll have to forgive my father; he’s a bit caveman before his coffee. Give him a cup and he’ll return to the verbal world,” Stiles chuckled, putting a mug in front of Isaac after his father was done fixing his own. “Cream or sugar?”

“No, thanks. I like mine black.”

“Awesome,” Stiles said, moving back to the griddle to rotate the bacon. He hummed.

“I don’t get how you’re so cheery in the morning, Stiles,” the Sheriff said. “You go to bed at like two in the morning.”

“Ahh, it speaks!” Stiles teased. “It’s called being young, Dad. Maybe you should try it some time.”

“I’m not afraid to spank you still, kid,” he said against his mug.

“Besides, I’ve been living on four hours of sleep every night for years! I’m not about to start getting a full night’s sleep. It’d throw me off.”

The Sheriff hummed and looked at Isaac.

“Who are you? Did Stiles get a boyfriend without telling me? Again?”

“Dad!” Stiles yelped. “I did not get a boyfriend without telling you, you know that I’m dating Lydia. And this is Isaac, he’s a guest.”

“Oh. Well, welcome, Isaac. When’d you get in?”

“Last night,” Isaac offered in return, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. It was adorable, Stiles thought. “The storm got too bad, and I had to stop. I couldn’t see where I was going. I kept slipping into the ditch.”

“I’m glad you found us, then,” the Sheriff said. “Is that full fat bacon?”

“Not for you,” Stiles shot back. “You get the turkey bacon.”

He whined, an actual high pitched whining whine.

“Come on, Stiles. Just once.”

“I know how you eat at the station, Dad. No. You get the turkey bacon, and that is the end of this discussion.”

Stiles finished the breakfast without another word, sliding one waffle onto each plate with a few strips of bacon and a heap of steaming eggs topped with low-fat cheddar cheese. He balanced them on his arms and led the pair to the table, sliding each one gracefully onto a place setting. He watched as the pair sank into a chair and started, digging in with gusto. He grinned and moved back to the sink to pour himself a glass of orange juice.

“Does anyone else want a glass of orange juice while I’m out here?” Stiles asked, reaching towards the cup cupboard.

“No, thanks,” the Sheriff replied. “Isaac?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind a glass. Please.”

“Of course.”

Stiles poured a second and returned to the table, placing the second glass before Isaac.

“How’s your bacon, Dad?” Stiles teased after a minute, biting into his own.

“I will spank you, I don’t care how old you are.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and went back to his food, used to the Sheriff’s threats of punishment. The Sheriff had tried to punish Stiles when he was younger, but Stiles wasn’t exactly receptive to his attempted teachings. It was his ADD, really. He tried to pay attention when the Sheriff was scolding him, but he just couldn’t, even on his medication. He knew he was doing something bad when he was doing it, but that’s the thing about Stiles, he has close to zero impulse control. Although, he had to hand it to himself, he hadn’t launched himself at Isaac yet, and he looked _amazing_ in Stiles’ clothes. His hair had dried and curled as it pleased around his ears, and Jesus, if that boy wasn’t going to be his undoing. Although, that’s not the point. His father tried, that was his point. And for that, Stiles tried not to be such a little shit.

But sometimes, it was just impossible.

Especially when he got an idea into his head.

And he was with Scott.

Most of his hijinks were pulled because Scott was there to egg him on, or alternatively screw things up so he got caught.

“Oh, speaking of Scott,” Stiles said aloud.

“We weren’t speaking of Scott,” the Sheriff replied.

“I was. He has to shadow a business for a day, something for one of his classes, and he’s going to be here today.”

“Why doesn’t he shadow Doctor Deaton, since he wants to be a veterinarian?” the Sheriff asked.

“You know, I didn’t really ask. I’m just going to assume it’s so he doesn’t actually have to do any work. I’d have done the same thing.”

“Well, try not to burn down the house while I’m at work,” the Sheriff said, standing with his plate and mug, moving towards the sink. “It was good to meet you, Isaac. If you’re still here when I get home, I will see you later.”

“It was good to meet you, too,” Isaac said after a moment, swallowing his mouthful of waffle like a real boy. Stiles can’t even count how many times he’d been scolded to finish chewing and swallow before he spoke, by both his father and Hanna.

He should call Hanna; see if she’d like a free night for her and the new husband at the house, just so he could see them. Plus, he’d heard a rumor that she was pregnant, or had had the baby, or something.

Focus, Stiles.

“You’re welcome to stick around, Isaac, until the rain completely stops,” Stiles said, peaking out the window closest to him. It was still raining, nothing more than a drizzle, and didn’t look like it was going to let up anytime soon. He didn’t want Isaac to go, really. He hadn’t had an attractive guest since October, when Mr. and Mr. Decker booked a romantic getaway from their busy city lives for their third anniversary. They were both extremely handsome and had spent most of their weekend at the inn batting their eyelashes at each other and sneaking kisses in the corners of the house. It’d been adorable. They’d left behind, completely on accident, a thick leather-bound anthology of English poetry. Stiles had called them, about returning it, but they said they could pick one up on their next trip to London, that he could keep it. It’d gone in the chest at the foot of his bed, beside everything else left behind or forgotten.

“I should get moving, thank you, though.”

“That’s fine. You probably want your clothes, huh?”

Isaac nodded, looking down at the t-shirt and sweatpants he wore. Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about how he wanted someone to wear his clothes like all the time. Especially a guy like Isaac.

He tried not to think about what circumstances would lead to Isaac wearing his clothes, but with the way Isaac looked, and seemed to be the sweetest kid ever, it was hard. In more ways than one, to be completely honest.

“Okay, well, finish your breakfast, and I will be right back,” Stiles said, taking his own empty plate and cup to the sink to sit with the rest of the dirty dishes. Considering the rain, he wouldn’t get to tend the gardens today, again. Housework, it was, then. Laundry, dishes, cleaning, this was his chosen life. He’d make an excellent husband someday, tending the house and children while his significant other went out and ruled the world. Or whatever.

He shuffled around in the laundry room, collecting Isaac’s clothes from the neat pile he’d stacked them in the night before when he couldn’t sleep. Isaac was scared when he knocked on the door, no one knocked like that unless they were truly terrified. And he definitely had run away from something; he glanced around like he was scared of getting caught out. The entire time Stiles had talked to him, he fidgeted, checked the exits, looked for something, or someone who might pop out and drag him away. Whatever Isaac was running from, Stiles didn’t want him to go back to that. And if Isaac didn’t feel safe here, Stiles could let him go.

Maybe he could call a cab for the kid, lend him as much money as he could afford to drive as far as that money would take him.

He gathered the clothes in his arms and deposited them into the bag Isaac had left in the laundry room the night before. He zipped it carefully and leaned against his dryer. He wished he could keep Isaac safe, keep him there. He didn’t even know this kid, but he seemed like he needed a friend, or a confidant. Something.

“Stiles?” Isaac’s tentative voice called.

“Coming,” he called back. He carried the bag out to Isaac. “Your belongings, sir.”

Isaac smiled. “Thanks. You’re really kind to let me stay here, even though I can’t pay. Not many people take in strays.”

“My mom would’ve done it,” Stiles said with a shrug. “You know that phrase, what would Jesus do? I have my own, what would Claudia Stilinski do? It’s a pretty good rule to live by.”

“Thank you, anyway. I should change, and get going. Although, would you mind if I used your phone? There’s someone I gotta check in with, before I go.”

“Of course. Go change and I’ll show you to the phone. I keep meaning to install phones into each room, but everyone has cell phones nowadays so I don’t see the point.”

Isaac nodded and headed upstairs with his bag. Stiles sighed and puttered about the kitchen while he waited, putting away ingredients and wiping down the countertops. Isaac came down in a fresh pair of jeans and t-shirt, topped with a thick hoodie zipped halfway.

Wow, Stiles thought. Boy looks good in anything.

He suppressed that train of thought, it would lead nowhere good.

“Phone’s this way,” he said, leading Isaac through the dining room and into the check-in area between the front foyer and the lounge. He rounded the desk and moved his papers out of the way to find the phone hiding beneath the mess. He kept the inn sparkling, but his desk was another thing entirely. He couldn’t keep that clean to save his life. Disorganized chaos, Lydia would chuckle when she came over.

Lydia, he had to call Lydia, too.

He handed over the cordless and shuffled his papers around again, looking for his memo pad. It was there somewhere.

“Aha!” he crowed as he found it hiding beneath the keyboard of his desktop. Isaac smiled at him, dialing and moving away from Stiles. Stiles scribbled on the memo pad.

_Call;_

  * _Hanna, offer room for night_
  * _Lydia, miss her_
  * _Mrs. Hansen, Scott’s business teacher about shadow_



 

He doodled around the edges of the pad with a colorful pen to draw his attention to it and stuck the note onto the edge of his computer screen.

“I’m fine, Derek. I stopped in Beacon Hills, yeah, tiny town up north. It was raining, and the guy let me stay for free. I know you would’ve. Yeah, I know. I’m staying off main roads. Yeah. Yeah. Derek,” Isaac said. Stiles turned to the computer and checked his reservation program for any upcoming check-ins. It was kind of the off-season, that in-between time after New Year and spring when families started vacationing again. Not many people vacationed specifically to Beacon Hills, but Stiles, and Claudia before him, had built a reputation for the inn that pulled people in, if just to stay for a night before starting out again.

“I’m heading out now. Hopefully I’ll make it at least halfway to the border. I know. I’ll be careful. Thanks, Derek. I know. See you soon. Mm, bye.”

He hung up and returned to the desk, cordless held out in front of him like a peace offering.

“Everything good?” Stiles asked, putting the phone back into its cradle.

“Yeah, everything’s good. Thank you, again.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad I could help.”

Isaac gave Stiles a shy smile, hiking his backpack onto his shoulders.

“I should get going, try and beat the storm.”

“Okay, well. Here,” Stiles handed him a business card for Berry Hill Garden. “If you need help again, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks.”

Stiles walked Isaac out onto the porch and watched as Isaac started off, pulling his hood over his head. Isaac’s frame grew smaller as Stiles sat in one of the porch swings, legs pulled up to his chest, chin resting on his knees. Just after he disappeared around the corner, heading towards the next town, thunder rolled through the sky and lightning flashed twice, the rain shifting from drizzle to monsoon in seconds.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, rising. “Please be safe, Isaac.”

He entered the inn, instinctively reaching to flick the light on, even though it was still on from the night before. He went about his routine, cleaning the Gooseberry room while he hummed. Many people asked him why he didn’t hire a caretaker or a maid to clean for him, but he actually didn’t mind this. He didn’t mind stripping the bed, and scrubbing the tub, and vacuuming. He didn’t mind it at all. He’d actually volunteered to do it as a child, which made Claudia and John stare at him like he was crazy. Maybe he was, but it kept him busy, and menial tasks allowed him to think while he worked. He didn’t even mind tending the gardens, although for most of the year, they had a groundskeeper on the payroll. He had thrown out his back a few weeks before and was on bed rest while he healed. Stiles promised him he’d try to keep the gardens as well-tended as he could, but there really was no replacing Killian’s way with the wild.

“Stiles?” Scott called from the foot of the stairs. Stiles stuffed the bedclothes into a basket and carried them all downstairs.

Scott stood by the door, but not alone. A dripping Isaac hung his head beside him.

“Scott, what’s up?”

“I found a puppy on your porch, shivering,” Scott gestured to Isaac.

“That’s Isaac. Hi Isaac.”

“Hi Stiles,” he replied quietly.

“Couldn’t quite beat that storm, huh?”

“Apparently, I cannot outrun the rain, no.”

“Well, you’re welcome to wait it out here,” Stiles said. “There’s a lounge that way, past the reception desk. You can hang out there, if you want. Come on, Scott. You get to help me clean the sheets and dishes.”

“Oh, joy,” Scott grumbled.

“I could use the unpaid help,” Stiles smirked, leading his best friend through the inn. “Besides, I love to torture you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Value 5/5**

**Location 5/5**

**Sleep Quality 5/5**

**Rooms 5/5**

**Cleanliness 5/5**

**Service 5/5**

**A Special Place Any Time of Year**

Another outstanding stay at Berry Hill Gardens! This is our 8th year going to Berry Hill for a mother-daughter and artist retreat. Stiles is an wonderful innkeeper with an exceptional house and property. Everything is lovingly maintained and IMPECCABLY clean! Beautiful antiques and period pieces grace every cozy guest room and sitting area(s). We always look forward to the generous and delicious home cooked food that Stiles prepares using the freshest local, natural and homegrown ingredients. Everyone seems to revel in the relaxed and leisurely atmosphere and, by far, the favorite spot to unwind (morning, noon or night) is the spacious front porch with its amazing vistas of the grounds and distant mountain views. It’s hard to leave the good care of its people and magic of this place behind when it is time to leave. Berry Hill will always have a special place in our hearts – Thank you!

 

The storm was getting worse by the minute, Stiles watched while Scott worked and Isaac hid himself in the lounge.

“This sucks,” Scott moped, scrubbing at a pan that Stiles hadn’t soaked after breakfast. “I could’ve shadowed Deaton if I wanted to do manual labor.”

“I still have no idea why you want to be a veterinarian if you can’t even handle scrubbing an egg pan.”

“You have a dishwasher, you could stand to use it,” Scott replied, ignoring Stiles.

“I do have a dishwasher, his name is Scott, and he’s my free labor for the day,” Stiles answered, kicking his feet on the counter while he crunched on an apple. The rain pelted the windows hard, and the winds pushed tree branches sideways in their force. “Besides, the dishes get cleaner when you wash them by hand.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Scott answered.

“Just remember that I hold your business grade in my hand,” Stiles said, staring at the back of Scott’s head.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Scott shook his head. Thunder crashed overhead and a startled yelp echoed from the lounge followed by something smashed. Stiles raced through the rooms to find Isaac furiously picking up pieces of broken glass, fingers bleeding as he hurriedly worked. Stiles dropped to the ground and captured Isaac’s wrists. The glass was from a candle holder, something he picked up from a dollar store or something for his tea lights.

“Hey, hey, Isaac,” he said softly, holding the boy’s wrists firmly away from the glass. “Hey, stop. Stop, it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Isaac whispered. “You’re so nice to me, and I break your things.”

“It’s nothing, literally. I didn’t even like that candle holder,” Stiles said. He wasn’t sure which candle holder it even was, but if it was upsetting Isaac, he didn’t like it. “Come on, I’ll clean that up in a bit. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, come on.”

Stiles led Isaac through the inn to Stiles’ bedroom and into the bathroom connecting his room and his father’s. He sat Isaac down on the toilet and rifled around in the cupboard for the first aid kit.

“There we go,” he mumbled, finding it underneath some old washcloths and a package of unopened toothpaste. He kneeled before Isaac and picked the last pieces of glass out of Isaac’s fingertips. Isaac frowned, watching Stiles as he worked, cleaning each cut gently, murmuring encouragements as Isaac pulled his fingers away instinctually at the alcohol’s sting.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Stiles said, swiping triple antibiotic over each cut before searching through the Band-Aids. 

“What happened?” Stiles asked.

“The thunder,” Isaac answered. “I’m not a big fan of it. I jumped and knocked my hand into the candle holder.”

“Would you feel better with me and Scott around? You can watch me make him do some of my more physical jobs, like cleaning out the grease trap. I’ve been meaning to do it for a week and have yet to do it, so Scott gets to do it. It’s good fun, actually.”

Isaac smiled gratefully.

Once Stiles had Isaac all bandaged up, most of his fingers dressed up like mummies in Band-Aids, they found Scott grumbling about bacon grease at the sink, glancing longingly at the dishwasher.

The dishwasher was Hanna’s addition, since she didn’t enjoy washing dishes quite like Stiles did, or Claudia had for that matter. The Sheriff used it, and some of the guests, when they insisted on helping out.

“Scott,” Stiles said, leaning against the sink beside his best friend.

“Yes, slave driver?” Scott asked.

“Do you remember how I showed you to clean the grease trap?”

“You’re the most evil person ever, do you know that?”

“Love you too, Scott,” Stiles cooed, kissing his best friend on the cheek before flitting away to sweep up the lounge. If he didn’t do it now while it was on his mind, he’d forget and that would be good for no one.

He grabbed the broom and dustpan out of the laundry room and swung back into the lounge, singing softly as he worked. Some of the pieces had found their way into the rug by the chairs but most of them were on the surface and easily swept away.

“Stiles,” Scott whined when Stiles was done. “Stiles, I don’t wanna do this.”

“You chose to shadow the inn, man. You gotta do inn things, like clean the grease trap.”

“This is just mean. And awful. And advantageous.”

“Oh, good word, Scott,” Stiles commented.

“Of all the things in this entire bed and breakfast that you could have me do, you have me do this?” he asked, gesturing forcefully at the grease trap. Stiles grinned.

“Well, I don’t want to do it!”

“I hate you,” Scott stated. “I really hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Stiles sank into the kitchen stool beside Isaac who was touching his Band-Aids together experimentally then scratching the plastic over the countertop. Stiles pulled out his phone and opened the Weather Channel app he’d downloaded when he first got it.

“Doesn’t look like you’re going anywhere tonight either, Isaac. It’s going to continue storming until early in the morning tomorrow,” Stiles reported, looking up occasionally to check on Scott to make sure he was doing it right. He switched from checking the weather to checking the calendar app, making sure no major holidays were coming up. When you didn’t go to school or have class to remind you what day it was, you sometimes forgot that Veteran’s Day or Memorial Day, or fucking hell, Columbus Day were even a thing anymore.

From there, he switched to a game, because he had nothing else to do, and who didn’t want to be a robot unicorn trying to take a universe back from the evil Star Giants, one Star force at a time. At least, that’s what he thinks the premise of the game is. All you do is run along cliffs and break shit by dashing and try not to die. That was his kind of game.

“Can I use your phone again?” Isaac asked quietly.

“Absolutely,” Stiles said, not looking up from his game. He was almost past his high score, which meant he was almost to one of his goals, to reach a score of 125,000 over three wishes.

Isaac slipped away noiselessly.

“What’s the story with the puppy dog?” Scott asked, wiping his hair from his forehead with the bend of his arm.

“Isaac? He showed up my doorstep last night during the storm, I let him stay, and he did. He’s running from something, but I don’t really want to push him to tell me,” Stiles said with a shrug. He forgot to double jump and smashed right into the side of a cliff. He growled and tossed his phone onto the counter. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because, I see the way you look at him.”

“What? I don’t look at him any which way!”

“Yes, you do,” Scott chuckled, turning away to continue working without giving him an explanation. Isaac came back into the kitchen, smiling shyly as he slid into the seat beside Stiles.

“What would you guys like for lunch?” Stiles asked a few minutes later. “Watching Scott do my job is exhausting.”

“I hate you,” Scott muttered.

“No, you don’t. How about I make, mmm, hold on.”

He shuffled through his fridge and cupboards.

“I really need to go to the store.”

“I’m not doing it,” Scott stated. “Last time you sent me to the store, I bought the wrong thing and you wouldn’t talk to me for three days.”

“How can you mix up lettuce and cabbage, though? Cabbage, lettuce, they’re completely different! And, _and_ they’re labelled! I couldn’t talk to you, just couldn’t physically do it.”

“Thanks, that makes me feel so much better.”

“It’s not my job to make you feel better. You have Allison for that.”

Scott sighed dreamily, leaning against the counter as he stared off, not seeing. Allison was like a trigger word that always sent Scott into a trance, a stupid love-sick grin on his face.

“That boy, Isaac, I swear,” Stiles muttered as he picked through the fridge again. “We can have grilled cheese. Do you like grilled cheese?”

Isaac nodded.

“Alright, grilled cheese. Do I have any soup in here? Now, mind you, I can make a mean chicken noodle soup, if I had the ingredients. So don’t think that I make things out of cans as a habit. This is my desperate I forgot to go to the market this week menu. I apologize.”

Isaac chuckled.

“It’s okay, we didn’t really have many homemade foods growing up,” Isaac said. Stiles gasped.

“That is unacceptable! Come on, we’re going to the store and I’m making homemade soup for lunch. Scott, man the fort!”

“Man the fort, right!” Scott called as Stiles playfully pushed Isaac to the side door, nearest Stiles’ Jeep. “Wait, why?”

“Make sure the grease trap is clean by the time we’re back, and answer any calls we get. You know how to take reservations!” Stiles instructed, looping a scarf around Isaac’s neck and tugging his hood up over his head. He pulled his own jacket on and did the same, cinching the hood in place and leading Isaac out to the Jeep.

Isaac climbed into the passenger side of the Jeep while Stiles started up the old girl, listening to her whine and complain. She was third- or fourth-hand when Stiles got her, and that was when he was 16, two years ago. She hadn’t been sounding too good recently, but she kept on keeping on.

“So you’ve never hand homemade soup?”

“Nah, we microwaved the canned soup most of the time.”

“Oh, oh, stop, you’re hurting my heart,” Stiles whined, placing a hand overdramatically over his chest. “Luckily, you’ve come to the right place. I learned the recipes from my mother, who learned them from her father before her, and so on. Family secrets, this stuff.”

Isaac just smiled into his scarf.

“Where are you from, anyway? California?”

“Yeah, not too far from here. I was heading up to Seattle. My, uhh, uncle has some family there that was going to take me in.”

“Seattle, nice place,” Stiles said with a nod. “Quite a walk, though.”

“I’m not going to walk the whole way,” Isaac said defensively.

“Right, right, sorry. Do you like chicken noodle?”

Isaac nodded, staring at his hands.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” Isaac snapped.

“Alright, I won’t be,” Stiles said, drumming gently on the steering wheel as he drove towards the health and organic center in town, pulling into their small parking lot. “Ready?”

Isaac nodded and they ran, trying to dodge the rain drops as they went.

Once inside they stood, shaking water off for a moment.

“Mr. Stilinski! I wondered when I might see you again! And who is this? I’ve never seen you around,” the owner said, hobbling out from behind the counter. Serendipity was the owner of the health food store in Beacon Hills, and was about as old as the town itself. The town’s kids used to joke that the store was a front for the witchy spells she cast to keep herself alive, using the herbs to make potions and whatnot.

Stiles wouldn’t doubt that they were right on occasion.

“Serendipity, this is Isaac. He’s passing through, staying at Berry Hills. Isaac, this is Serendipity, she’s the town’s organic guru and owns this shop. She also gives me great deals because my mother and I were her most loyal customers.”

“God rest her soul,” Serendipity said with a fond smile. She reached up to pinch Stiles’ cheek like an old aunt would, if Stiles had an aunt. Both his mother and father were only children, both living far from their parents. “You two have kept me in business. Now, Stiles, what can I get for you today?”

“Did you get any chicken broth and breasts in?” Stiles asked, grabbing a basket from beside the door and heading for the spices. He had plenty of dried spices, racks upon racks but he liked fresh in his soups.

“Ahh, the infamous Stilinski chicken noodle soup. Are we going to share the recipe this time?”

Stiles chuckled.

“Not on your life, Seren.”

“Yes, your mother didn’t share either.”

“Family recipe.”

He loaded up his basket with the necessary spices, then vegetables, and found Isaac with Serendipity, looking over her stock of chicken, broth and breasts. She held out two options for each, which Stiles looked over before choosing, adding it to the basket.

“All set then, dear?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Once done, Stiles led Isaac back to the Jeep, loading his bags into the trunk.

“Why’d you want this?” Isaac asked. “I mean, being an innkeeper of all things.”

“My mom loved Berry Hill. She put everything she was into it, worked until the day the cancer took her. She taught me how to cook, and clean, and care about how others are doing. She taught me how to be personable, even when you wanted to shout at the world for being so nasty. I had decided when I was kid, even before she got sick that I wanted to grow up, and run the inn with her. I don’t know why I love it, I just do. I don’t want to do anything else,” Stiles admitted. “And maybe that’ll change in a couple of years. Maybe I’ll wake up one morning and think, what am I doing with my life? I could be exploring the world, I could be a photographer, I could show the world itself before I die. But, for right now, this is the life I want.”

Isaac smiled.

“I wish I had something like that, something I was so sure of. The only thing I ever wanted was to get away, just to get away. Not to anywhere specific, not to do anything important, just to get out. And now I’ve done that. I don’t know what next. I’m lost.”

“You’ll find your way,” Stiles said, finally putting the car into drive and pulling away from Serendipity’s shop. They didn’t talk on the way back to the inn, just listened to the pelting of rain drops against the Jeep’s metal, and the groan of the engine as they made their way out of town into the country.

Some say the inn was inconveniently placed, but Stiles loved it.

They had acres upon of acres of gardens; of course it wasn’t going to be right in town. That would be madness.

They gathered their supplies out of the trunk and dashed into the house shaking out themselves before hanging up their coats on the rack by the side door. Scott was washing the counter down as they walked in.

“All done, Scotty?”

“Yes, master,” Scott said with an overdramatic eye roll.

“Fine, I won’t let you have the rest of the day to hang out. You can do the laundry.”

“And deprive you of doing your favorite chore?” Scott replied. “I would never!”

Stiles chuckled, settling his bags down on the counter.

“Where’s your sheet? I’ll sign off on it, before I forget,” Stiles said. Scott rifled through his school bag and handed the sheet over to Stiles, who scribbled his legal name across the bottom and handed it back. “To make it more official than _Stiles_.”

“Thanks, man. That was a pretty easy grade, awful and disgusting, but easy enough.”

“And you wanted to scrub dog beds at Deaton’s,” Stiles said with a chuckle. He picked through his bags and set out the ingredients to his soup in order of what he would need first. “You are free to go, if you want. I’m sure there’s a certain brunette archer you could be corrupting right now.”

“What? And miss out of your chicken noodle soup? I would never.”

“You would never because Allison is in school right now, yeah?”

Scott blushed.

“Yeah.”

“And I don’t even care. I used to be angry because you spend all of your free time with Allison, but now look at me, rising above.”

“Is that what Lydia does for you? Because I would’ve arranged that months ago if I knew it chilled you out like this.”

“Lydia is a goddess, sir,” Stiles informed Scott, although Stiles had been informing Scott of Lydia’s high status since 3rd grade so he was duly informed. “And her presence is like the nectar of happiness.”

Scott simply rolled his eyes and turned to Isaac.

“Despite what Stiles says, I am actually a good friend,” Scott said.

“Yeah, when you’re not off ditching me to be with Miss Argent,” Stiles cut in.

“And I would never desert him in his time of need.”

“Time of need, what time of need? Don’t be ridiculous, Scott. I am not a damsel in distress.”

“I am here for you, Stiles, always. You and that soup.”

“It’s always about the food! I’m going to stop feeding you, and see how long our friendship lasts without it.”

Scott pouted.

“I am a growing boy, Stilinski. A growing boy with growing needs.”

“Is that why you eat me out of house and home?”

“I don’t eat you out of ho-” he was cut off by a shrill ringing from his phone. He pulled it out. “Hold on.”

He answered the phone with a worried hello and paced himself out of the room.

“Well, that was weird. So, grilled cheese and chicken noodle soup for lunch, and I still need to figure out what’s for dinner. Do you want something to drink, Isaac?”

Isaac was just standing against the counter, leaning on it like it was the only thing holding him up. His eyes subconsciously darted around the room, his back in the corner nearest the door like he was waiting for a chance to make his escape.

“No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, well, do you want to help out? I can always use an extra pair of hands, chopping or stirring.”

“It’s not the best idea to let me, I can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“I don’t know how to cook.”

“Nonsense, anyone can cook!”

“I’d feel better just watching, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want. I might start talking about it, as I’m doing it. I have a tendency to work better if I’m talking. Drives Dad up a wall, but helps me.”

“That’s okay.”

“Okay!”

Stiles moved through the motions, setting up his kitchen with pots and pans and knives and cutting boards. He grabbed the measuring cups and spoons, and set everything out on the counter.

“This is my mother’s recipe, and my grandfather’s recipe, and my great-grandmother’s recipe, so on and so forth. As Serendipity said earlier, the infamous Stilinski chicken noodle soup, except not Stilinski at all, because it’s from my mom, whose last name is almost as hard to pronounce as my first name.”

“Your first name isn’t Stiles?”

“Nope. That’s what I like to be called, made it up myself in primary school, out of Stilinski.”

“Clever.”

“I thought so. Mom loved it, thought I was the cutest thing ever. But whenever it was just the two of us, when Dad was off being super cop, she would call me by my first name,” Stiles said with a fond smile on his lips, a tinge of sadness coloring his eyes. “She was the only one who could actually pronounce it, anyway.”

“Is it really that difficult?”

“Oh, I can barely even spell it, have to think about it nowadays. It’s really that difficult, so Stiles it is.”

“Stiles,” Isaac said.

“Stiles Stilinski, at your service,” Stiles said with an obnoxious bow. A crack of thunder shook the inn followed by a flash of lightning, startling Isaac. The sky seemed to open immediately afterwards and the rain started coming down in harsh buckets. “You’re definitely not going anywhere.”

“I can’t stay here for free. I can’t take advantage of your hospitality. My, uhm, uncle is sending you payment for tonight; hopefully the skies will clear by tomorrow.”

“He doesn’t have to do that; I couldn’t turn you away, Isaac. Not in this weather.”

“I insist.”

Stiles sighed.

“Yeah, alright, if you insist.”

Stiles turned back to his pot, pouring in the broth without measuring.

_“I don’t need to measure. I have it memorized, and when you make it as many times as I have, Stiles, you’ll have it memorized too.”_

“Stiles,” Scott said lowly, catching Stiles’ attention. He turned the burner to low and followed Scott out of the room and into the back hall leading to the residential rooms. “It’s my mom. She apparently has to have an appendectomy because her appendix burst while she was at work, and she’s not doing so great. Do you mind if I take the Jeep? I want to get to the hospital for when she wakes up.”

“Yeah, of course. Go right ahead. You know where the keys are.”

“You’re the greatest, Stiles.”

“Yeah, always here for you in your time of need. I’ll put some soup aside for her.”

Scott grinned and hurried out of the hall and out of the inn, swiping the Jeep’s keys from the hook by the back door.

“Just you and me now, Isaac,” Stiles said, returning to the kitchen and turning the soup up. “Sure you don’t want to help?”

“Yeah, I’ll just stay back here, and your kitchen will stay in one piece.”

Stiles hid his smile. He wasn’t supposed to find Isaac this cute, he had a girlfriend. Isaac was cute, but Stiles _had a girlfriend_ , after pining for her for 10 years, he finally had a girlfriend.

And then, then there was Isaac, who had stepped through the door less than 24 hours before, and now, as Stiles stirred his soup lazily, he couldn’t seem to even remember what Lydia looked like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! I'm thankful for Stisaac. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Value 5/5**

**Location 5/5**

**Sleep Quality 5/5**

**Rooms 5/5**

**Cleanliness 5/5**

**Service 5/5**

**Wonder Land!**

What a beautiful place! Flowers for days, grape arbors, sightings of deer and wild turkeys, a lake so clear, one could see the bass swimming in the shallow parts. An old antique house, decorated with antique furniture, a front porch to die for where we sat in the evening and enjoyed the cool of the day. At night we put the windows up and we could hear the sounds of nature, instead of sirens, trains and traffic. The food was excellent farm fresh eggs, fresh basil over your tomatoes. My husband and I were there for our son’s wedding and plan on returning! Please request the French toast! Every person deserves a break every now and then. You owe it to yourself to spend your break at Berry Hill Gardens! The owner was willing to help, when my son didn't have enough gas to get into Beacon Hills, they found some gas somewhere, from a tractor, I don't know where but they saved the day!

 

“Okay, so there’s not much to see in the rain,” Stiles said after they had had their lunch and the rain had continued to pour down. “I can promise that during the summer that the gardens are absolutely gorgeous but during March, it’s not exactly peak growing season. But here, we can stand on the back porch and I’ll point to where everything is.”

Isaac smirked and followed Stiles onto the porch, padding in just his socks onto the wooden deck overlooking the back acres of the inn’s property. He pointed out where each part of the property is, from the Honeymoon Cabin tucked in the back corner, to the crystal-clear lake surrounded by blackberry bushes.

“You really love this place,” Isaac said softly as he told him about how they had a gardener for the busy seasons but that was only because Stiles couldn’t quite manage tending to his guests and his gardens.

“I do. My mom scrimped and saved every paycheck since high school to buy her own bed and breakfast, and right after Mom and Dad got married, this place became available and she fell in love. She bought it and ran it until the day she died. She was well-known in the inn community. Claudia Stilinski, the nicest proprietor in the business, always willing to lend a hand, never once had a bad review with Mom around,” Stiles said, sinking into one of the wicker chairs on the back porch. Isaac sat in the other, looking out over the grounds while the rain continued to pour down.  “I try my best, but I’m not quite as good as my mom was. She was the best.”

“You miss her,” Isaac said.

“Of course. She died when I was 8, and it’s been just my dad and me since then. My dad tried his best, but he wasn’t always around, what with being the Sheriff. He still isn’t around that much, but you know, I understand. Someone’s got to protect Beacon Hills from itself.”

Isaac smiled, resting his chin in his hand to cover it up, but Stiles saw it and butterflies burst to life in his gut.

“My mom died when I was just a baby,” Isaac said after a beat. “I don’t remember much about her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. It’s okay,” Isaac said, and the look in his eyes said that he truly meant it. It was okay. Stiles wished he could be that okay. He still walked through life with a hole missing from him where his mother used to be, like a limb he knew was gone but he could swear he could feel it swinging against him, could feel an itch he could never scratch.

Sometimes, and he knew this was crazy, he swore that she was going to swing in through the backyard, a smudge of garden dirt on her cheek, a basket full of berries from the gardens under one arm. He felt like she was just out of frame, but she’d be back soon.

But she never came back. She couldn’t. She’d died, and that was it.

“Why did Scott run out of here so fast earlier?” Isaac asked.

“Oh, his mom is having an appendectomy and he wants to be there for her when she wakes. He’s a good son, better than I’ve been.”

“That doesn’t sound like it’s true.”

“Thanks, but it is. I was an awful little shit when I was growing up, and our poor manager, Hanna, she had to deal with it while Dad was working. I was always getting into some trouble, usually dragging poor Scott into it with me. Even in school, when I was trying to graduate as soon as I could, I couldn’t keep myself out of detention. And I got clever about lying to Dad, and to Hanna. I had this boyfriend for a while, when I was taking classes at Beacon Hills Community, and he was a lot older than I was, and I had to lie about it. The only person who knew was Scott, and I swore him to secrecy.”

“Why’d you lie about the boyfriend?” Isaac asked.

“The age difference. Do you remember the comment my dad this morning, about getting a boyfriend without him knowing? He’s fine with me being into guys, he just wasn’t fine with my boyfriend’s age.”

“Ahh. My dad, well, he’s not the most accepting person in the world, let’s say,” Isaac replied.

“I’m sorry.”

Isaac stood up and stepped up to the edge of the porch. He leaned against the wood, staring out at the acres before him.

“It’s fine. He can’t get to me here, anyway.”

Stiles smiled at Isaac’s back. He took in Isaac’s frame slowly with appreciation while he could. He was gorgeous, his hair tousled from the wind blowing it around, shirt fitting quite nicely to his torso.

“Yeah, you’re safe here.”

Isaac turned to look at Stiles, inspecting him for any flicker of falsehood. He nodded.

“I think I’m going to go read, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course. Go ahead. I need to get some laundry done anyway. Been slacking on it, really. I’ll call you down when dinner is ready.”

Isaac gave Stiles a small smile and headed inside. Stiles sat on his chair and leaned his head back against his chair.

“What are you _doing_? Lydia. You’re dating Lydia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh. It's so short, and it's so late... The next one WILL be better! If you ever get impatient, poke me on Tumblr or on here to get going. Tumblr; packyourbagsrightnow.tumblr.com :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh! I am so sorry for the wait! I hope you enjoy this! :)

**Value 5/5**

**Location 5/5**

**Sleep Quality 3/5**

**Rooms 5/5**

**Cleanliness 5/5**

**Service 5/5**

**Terrific, Even In Off Season**

We stayed over a Saturday night, on March 31st. We were the only guests, since it was a misty, chilly weekend (we were up to visit friends). The owner was helpful and friendly. We stayed in the Cranberry Room ... I feel like the web site photos do not do the room justice. The furniture is very nice, without the lace and frills of too many B&Bs. The queen bed was comfortable enough ... we didn't sleep well, but I don't blame the bed, I think we just sleep best in our own bed!  
Breakfast in the morning was right on time, and delicious.  
Special mention goes to the views - this area is gorgeous, even on a rainy March/April weekend.  
I would definitely come back. The only negative I can think of is that the road leading to the house is not paved, which may present a problem, especially at the bottom of the hill. (It's also badly marked, but so are many roads in the region). The drive for the house is not paved, either, but I felt like that went with the country atmosphere, so I'm not sure it's a detriment.  
For the price, and the area, a great value, and a wonderful stay.

 **Room Tip:**  Cranberry room is spacious, and has beautiful views

 

Saturdays were always nice for Stiles, always his favorite day of the week, because Lydia came over and hung out with Stiles while she did her homework, and he caught up on the actual business end of running a business. She was a good girlfriend, sweet and caring while not letting Stiles get away with anything, always called Stiles every night if they hadn’t seen each other, which was more often than not. Sometimes, she convinced Scott to look after the inn long enough to take Stiles out to dinner, a movie, and making out in the park.

That Saturday, Lydia just curled up next to Stiles in the living room while they did their separate work.

Isaac trailed in sometime before lunch while Lydia was finishing up her AP Calc homework, yawning and scratching at his stomach through his t-shirt. Lydia looked up and just paused, staring at him.

“Morning, Isaac,” Stiles said, trying to remember what his bank account number for the inn was and then trying to remember if he’d taken his Adderall. “You’re up late.”

“Couldn’t really sleep that well,” Isaac replied, slouching into a chair across from the pair. “Thunderstorms kept me up.”

“That’s rough, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Isaac assured him with a sleepy smile. “Does the weather look any better for today?”

“I honestly haven’t checked,” Stiles said, reaching for his phone.

“It’s supposed to be overcast all day, but no rain,” Lydia answered, turning her attention back to her nearly finished homework. “High of 43, low of 32, with about 10% chance of precipitation.”

“You’re amazing,” Stiles breathed out appreciatively. He had fought for Lydia’s attention for most of his school career, and she was just as radiant and magnificent as she had been when she’d first caught his attention. Now, he knew her as a person, and while he could see her faults as he couldn’t before, he had learned to appreciate how they made up Lydia Martin.

“Thanks, Stiles,” Lydia said with a smile. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and turned to Isaac. “So, Isaac, wasn’t it? I’m Lydia, Stiles’ girlfriend. He’s told me a bit about you, but I would like to hear just a little bit more.”

“Lydia,” Stiles started but she silenced him with a look. She was good at that.

“It’s alright,” Isaac assured Stiles. “What do you want to know?”

“Where are you from?”

“Not far from here,” Isaac answered. “Beacon Hills is a lot like home, actually.”

“And where are you going?”

“Seattle.”

“And, how old are you, Isaac?”

“I’m 17,” he answered.

She nodded as if in approval, and the questions continued. She asked him if he was an only child (no, he had an older brother), and whether or not he planned to go to college (not at the moment, but maybe in the future), how long he planned on staying at the inn (as long as his uncle thought was best).

“I’m going to make lunch,” Stiles said, standing up and tucking his laptop under the couch. “Any requests?”

“You know what I like,” Lydia said with a grin. He leaned down and kissed her happily.

“Isaac, any requests from you?” he asked, turning to his guest. Isaac shook his head shyly. He turned back to Lydia and pointed his finger at her, “You behave, Lydia Rose. Be nice to Isaac. He is a guest.”

“I’m a guest too, y’know,” Lydia reminded him.

“Is someone paying for you to stay here?”

“No.”

“Alright. Be nice.”

He left them alone in the study as he went to the kitchen, worrying at his lip as he started their lunch. Lydia had two speeds; Sweetest Girl in the World and Queen Bitch. You were never sure which speed she was going to go at during any particular moment. He trusted Lydia with a lot of things, but he wasn’t quite sure if Isaac should be one of those things.

Stiles put the thoughts out of his mind, humming as he made their food. He decided to make one of Lydia’s favorite chicken pitas, grilling chicken he’d started marinating the night before quickly on the stove top and chopping it into small bite-sized chunks. He used a variation of a Spiedie marinade that he had to order specially from New York, but it was worth the investment. Everyone loved the pita pocket Spiedies he made, especially Lydia.

As he cut up a package of sun-dried tomatoes, Lydia drifted in with an Isaac just behind.

“You’re making Spiedie Pockets,” she gushed, sliding into a seat at the island. “You are my favorite boyfriend in the whole world.”

“What are Spiedie Pockets?” Isaac asked, sinking into a seat beside her.

“Spiedie Pockets,” Stiles said, chopping baby spinach next. “They’re a variation of these Little Italy chicken pitas I found online, and a variation on Spiedies. Lydia loves them, and I’m better at them than pretty much anything.”

“Which is saying something considering he’s an amazing cook,” Lydia cooed. Stiles looked at her and she grinned.

“What do you want from me, Lydia Martin? You’re never this nice, or complimentary. What’d you do?”

“I did not do a thing, Stilinski!”

“Lydia, somehow you get into just as much trouble as I do, you just never get caught.”

“That’s because I don’t look like I’m an actual juvenile delinquent,” she shot back.

“Insulting me will get you nowhere.”

“You don’t even know where I’m trying to get.”

“So you admit that you’re trying to get somewhere.”

“I’m always trying to get somewhere, Stiles. Beacon Hills is too small for me.”

“I know,” Stiles said sadly. He knew that as soon as Lydia graduated, she would be gone from his life. She had MIT to rule, and then the world to take by storm, and become the all-powerful High Priestess of the Universe. Beacon Hills, California was no place for a girl like Lydia Martin. That was the difference between Stiles and Lydia, mainly. She wanted to rule the world and smash the patriarchy (which Stiles was all for. Go women), and Stiles liked his small bed and breakfast on a gravel road with sheets to wash and berry gardens to tend to. They fooled themselves into thinking they would be forever when they could count the days they had left together they were so few.

“So,” Isaac drawled, looking between them. “What the hell is a Spiedie?”

“Okay, so my grandparents travel a lot. They wound up going to this Rod Sterling museum in New York one time, and when they got hungry, found their way to a place called the Spiedie and Rib Pit. Spiedies are marinated pieces of cubed meat that are grilled and stuck on a bun, and they’re delicious. My mom made them when I was a kid, because my grandparents would not stop raving about them, and I’ve been tweaking the recipe for a while now.”

“And he’s got it down perfect,” Lydia said with a smile.

“What are you buttering me up for?” Stiles asked, moving to cut the pitas in half.

“Why can’t I just be a good girlfriend without needing a reason?”

“Because you always have a reason.”

She scoffed and tossed her perfect strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder.

“You think so little of me, Stilinski.”

“Quite the opposite, Martin. I think the world of you, I just know better than to fall for your sweet and kind routine.”

She let out a heavy sigh.

“Fine, you caught me. I need a favor.”

“Lydia, you don’t need to butter me up for a favor. I’m your boyfriend. I’ll do it anyway.”

She smiled, and nodded. “Yeah, okay. I need a date to the Whittemore’s annual banquet, and I really would like not to go alone.”

“You want me to go to a formal banquet thrown by the Whittemore’s, your ex-boyfriend’s parents, as your date?” Stiles asked slowly. “You’re going to have to do more than butter me up, Lydia.”

“I know. I’ve already got it all planned out. Scott is going to watch the inn, you and I are going to go to dinner at your favorite restaurant, my treat, and then we’re going to drive out to Outlook Point where,” she paused and looked at Isaac who had found a particularly interesting spot on the counter. She winked at Stiles to finish her plans. Stiles chuckled.

“Throw in a night of watching my favorite movies without any complaints, and you’ve got yourself a date, Ms. Martin.”

Lydia let out a groan before sticking out her hand to seal the deal. Stiles took her hand and kissed it gently.

“When is the night of horror anyway?”

“Friday.”

“Jesus, _Lydia_!”

“I’m sorry. I know I blindsided you with this!”

“You realize I don’t own a single formal outfit in my entire wardrobe, right?”

“What do you wear to weddings hosted here?” she asked.

“You host weddings here?” Isaac asked.

“Yeah, occasionally. The gardens during the spring and summer are beautiful, and people want to get married by our lake, and it’s awesome. I don’t wear anything formal, though. It’s not my job to be a part of their wedding.”

“You are hopeless,” Lydia whined.

“Lydia, I’m giving you an opportunity to buy me a suit,” Stiles said. She looked up. “You’ve been trying to get me to dress better since we met. Well, here’s your chance. One night, you dress me however you want to.”

Lydia’s eyes lit up at the possibility.

“I should call Allison. She’s going to be thrilled!”

Stiles chuckled as Lydia hopped out of her seat to call Allison, and started to fill the pitas, sneaking glances at Isaac.

“You okay? I know Lydia can be a bit much, especially when you’re shiny and new.”

“I’m fine. She asked me some questions, I answered them.”

“What did she ask you?”

“Why I stopped here, if I had a rap sheet, if I’d gotten a haircut recently,” Isaac said, tugging at his messy curls.

“So nothing too traumatizing?”

“No, nothing too traumatizing,” Isaac laughed. Stiles really liked Isaac’s laugh. It was so rare, and so well deserved. Scott handed out laughs like they were informational flyers, but Isaac made you work for that laugh, and it was worth every second of labor.

“That’s good. Like I said, she can be a bit much if you’re not prepared for her. Lydia Martin is an oncoming storm that you can’t get away from if she sets her eye on you.”

“She’s nice,” Isaac replied.

“Did I hear you comparing me to a hurricane, Stiles Stilinski?” Lydia asked, sweeping back in as Stiles dished out half a pita with a cluster of grapes on a plate for each of them.

“Hurricane Lydia Martin, why yes. Do you disagree?”

She contemplated this for a moment, taking her plate out into the dining room.

“No, I don’t.”

Isaac and Stiles followed, sinking into seats across from each other and on either side of Lydia.

“Are you propagating Isaac against me?” Lydia asked as they began to eat. Isaac looked like he was about to proclaim his undying love for the pita, a common response to Spiedie Pockets, and Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

“I’m pretty sure,” Stiles said a second too late, “that you propagate people against you all by yourself.”

“You’re such a good boyfriend,” Lydia said with a roll of her eyes. Bantering with Lydia was easy, like talking to Scott almost. Although, he realized, you probably shouldn’t be able to put your girlfriend on the same level as your best friend. “I’m so glad that we started dating.”

“I am a delight, thank you very much!”

“Your cooking is a delight,” Lydia said with a smile. Stiles couldn’t come up with a proper comeback for that one, and decided to just leave it alone. Lunch finished in silence and Stiles washed the dishes afterwards slowly, while Lydia packed up her stuff.

“Hey, walk me to my car, will you?” she asked, leaning into Stiles’ side at the sink.

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, drying off his hands on a towel and heading to the door with Lydia. He put on a pair of shoes and a jacket before he took her hand. They walked out of the inn and to Lydia’s car parked behind the Jeep. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Whatever could you mean?”

“Walk me to my car is Lydia for I have something we should talk about and I don’t want to be overhead.”

“I like how well you know me.”

“So, what’s up?”

“I really like Isaac,” Lydia said quietly.

“Yeah? Do you want to date him?”

She let out a huff of laughter.

“No, I mean, I adore him as a person. He’s cute, and he’s so fragile, and Stiles, I’m not blind. I can see how much _you_ like him.”

“Lydia, what is this about?”

“Be careful with him. Okay? For both your sakes.”

Stiles leant in and kissed her gently. Their first kiss hadn’t been spectacular. Stiles was in the middle of a really bad panic attack and Lydia thought of the only way to get him to stop breathing, and she kissed him. Luckily, the rest of their kisses had been.

“Don’t distract me,” Lydia breathed out. “I have to go shopping for a suit, and Allison has this weird sense of whether or not you’ve felt me up recently.”

Stiles ducked his head into her collarbone. She stroked her hands through his hair.

“You should probably get going then,” he said softly.

“Behave while I’m gone. I’ll call you tonight,” she promised. He backed away, hands falling from her hips. She got in, winked at him, and backed out of his drive. He waved as she drove away.

Usually he wanted Lydia to come back as soon as he couldn’t see her taillights anymore.

Usually.

That day, he simply turned back and headed inside, to talk to Isaac.


	6. Chapter 6

**Overall 4/5**

**Charming B &B**

Because we left the San Francisco suburbs after work, we didn’t arrive at our destination until after 11:00 PM, but the proprietor was still awake and welcomed us warmly.   
Up steep, carpeted stairs and down a narrow hallway and into the Bayberry Room, we found ourselves in a good size room with a large brass bed nicely and freshly outfitted in quilt, cushions and clean linen. Oriental style area rugs cover the wood floor, even in the bathroom, which was surprisingly large and included two chairs, one of them rocking. There was lots of cupboard and drawer space, plenty of ambient light, and wood blinds that could be closed against the light of morning.   
Everything looked well-kept and clean. There was no television set, so we went right to sleep in a soft, cozy bed.   
We took showers the next morning in a spacious stall, where the water was never very hot, but sufficed.   
Our host provided a full breakfast of fresh fruit, breakfast breads, eggs, breakfast meats, coffee and tea in a large room with a family style dining table.   
As we chatted with the two other couples staying there, we were able to look out over the tops of the hills and into the distance. We could see extensive gardens that must be a joy in the spring and summer, but which were settling down for winter. We discovered that the proprietor had inherited the B&B from his mother before him, who had owned it for 10+ years. It was clear that they had put a lot of love and attention into all the details. I would definitely stay here again, and would recommend it to anyone who is looking for a charming B&B within 80 minutes of San Francisco and Sacramento. The website is very informative, with many photos of the B&B, the rooms and the surrounding gardens.

 

“I talked to Derek last night,” Isaac said softly the next morning, sinking into a seat at the island in the kitchen where Stiles was cutting up strawberries. “He told me to stay here for a while, until he finishes sorting things out in Seattle. If that’s okay, I mean, he’s still going to pay for my room and everything.”

“That’s fine, Isaac. Really. I’m not about to tell you no. That would simultaneously be bad for business and a dick move, so really, don’t worry about it.”

Isaac smiled at him and rested his chin in his hand while he watched Stiles move the strawberries into a glass bowl with already cut kiwis.

“What are you making?”

“Fruit salad. I’m sending it with my dad to work since he likes fruit, so maybe he won’t cheat on his diet again today.”

 “Why is he even on a diet? He seems to be pretty healthy,” Isaac asked. He’d been speaking up more and more as the time passed, which was good. Stiles could talk enough for the both of them, but it was nice not having to hold up both ends of the conversation sometimes.

“He has some problems with his heart, and his doctor warned him that if he continued the way he was eating, he would make it much worse. So, I make sure he at least attempts to eat healthy.”

“That’s really nice of you, to be worried about him.”

“Well, he’s the only family I’ve got left, you know?”

“Yeah,” Isaac said. “My dad’s all I have left, really.”

“Well, there’s Derek, right?”

“Derek?”

“I thought Derek was your uncle.”

Isaac shrugged, and Stiles decided to drop it. He wanted to know. A little nagging voice at the back of his head told him to push on, to figure out just what Derek’s connection was to Isaac, but that voice had gotten him, and Scott, into so much trouble in his life that sometimes it was better just to leave it. Curiosity killed the cat, of course.

Well, the original phrase is actually care killed the cat, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Anyway, the weather is much better, and I don’t have anything to do today, unless some mysterious traveler pops up on my porch out of nowhere again. Would you like to see the grounds?” Stiles asked. “Actually see them. Up close. Personal.”

Isaac chuckled. “Yeah, why not? I don’t have anything else to do.”

“Oh, well, if you don’t have anything else to do.”

Isaac hid his smirk in his hand as Stiles opened up a case of blueberries and moved to the sink. He washed up the blueberries, and dumped half of the container into the bowl, popping a few into his mouth.

“I should’ve asked this when you first showed up, but are you allergic to anything? Like, there was this kid in my school who was allergic to almost everything. Nuts, and strawberries, and pollen, and pet hair, and probably air. I think he was asthmatic. Him and Scott traded stories about attacks during recess a couple times, so he was allergic to everything, and we got in trouble once because someone brought peanut butter cookies without telling anyone and the entire class had peanut butter on their breath and nobody thought about telling the teacher and he had to be rushed to the hospital, and we all had to write apology letters to him. He hated us, all of us.”

“No, I’m not allergic to anything. Well, I’m allergic to bee stings, but I don’t need like an epi-pen or anything.”

“That’s good. I don’t have to worry about killing you, then. Well, accidentally.”

“Do you plan on purposefully killing me?”

“Not actively, but I always have that option, running a bed and breakfast. Innkeeper by day, serial killer by night, all that jazz, you know.”

“You talk a lot.”

“So I have been told, and yet, it does not deter me at all.”

“Could it?”

“Nope. Many have tried to silence me, and all have failed.”

“He’s telling the truth,” the Sheriff said, wandering in from the back bedrooms, dressed in his uniform. “Stiles can out-talk the world. If he had a super power, his superhero name would be Super Mouth. He could outbid an auctioneer with that mouth. He talks so much that-”

“We get it. I talk a lot. Thanks, Dad.”

The Sheriff chuckled and grabbed a blueberry from the open container, popping it into his mouth with a smug grin.

“What are you two up to today?” the Sheriff asked.

“I am going to show Isaac the gardens.”

“Oh, the tour. More talking.”

“That’s it, I’m not packing you fruit salad anymore. You’re getting veggies and no dip for lunch. And I’ll bribe every deputy not to bring you anything.”

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes accusingly at Stiles.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.”

“Don’t let him influence you,” the Sheriff said to Isaac, gesturing towards Stiles. “He is an awful child.”

“You raised me. I am your entire fault.”

“You’re your mother’s child, too.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said with a smile. The Stilinskis shared a look and went back to what they were doing. The Sheriff fixed himself a travel mug of black coffee and Stiles finished the fruit salad with a handful of grapes and a container of canned raspberries from last harvest.

“Alright, I gotta go, I’m late enough as it is.”

“You’re an awful influence for those deputies,” Stiles commented, dishing some of the salad into a plastic storage container and popping on the lid. “How are they supposed to grow up well if they’ve got a Sheriff like you teaching them it’s okay to be late?”

The Sheriff glared at Stiles.

“I will ground you, you know. You’re still a minor. I can do that.”

“Oh, stop it. You have no power here and you know it. Now, shoo. Go set a good example. Deputy Parrish is already starting to take on some of your habits, and that boy is too pretty to be like you.”

The Sheriff rolled his eyes and headed out the door, fruit salad and keys in one hand, travel mug in the other.

“That man, Isaac. He is going to kill me one of these days.”

Isaac looked out the window facing the driveway, frowning.

“Of course, he would say the same about me,” Stiles continued with a shrug. “Do you want some of this?”

“Yes, please.”

“You are so damn polite, I cannot handle it. Most kids our age are the rudest motherfuckers I have ever met, but you are a good kid. How’d that happen?”

“Just got lucky, I guess,” Isaac replied.

Stiles nodded, dishing out two more servings into separate bowls before wrapping the serving bowl in cling wrap and stowing it into the refrigerator. He pushed a bowl at Isaac with a fork and started on his own. They ate in companionable silence, a gentle spring breeze blowing through the screen door and windows Stiles had opened early that morning.

“Okay, so, I’m going to change and find shoes. I’ll meet you back here for a tour in ten minutes,” Stiles said as they both finished. Isaac nodded and headed upstairs while Stiles rinsed out their bowls and, loathingly, put them in the dishwasher with the rest of that morning’s dishes for a quick wash while they were out exploring.

Stiles had grown up in this inn, had grown up between the gardens, helping out with picking berries or pulling weeds. He knew this inn intimately, every nook and cranny. It wasn’t so much as exploring for him anymore as it was having a nice walk down memory lane. He could still point to the exact tree that he had climbed, after Claudia had expressly told him not to climb trees, and then proceeded to fall out of and break his arm in two places. He could show you the spot where Scott and Stiles had tried to jump their bikes into the lake, one succeeding and the other succeeding only in breaking his arm in two places again. He could list off for you every single berry grown on the property, including the wild bushes. He could tell you about the inn’s history, in chronological order.

This inn was his home, not just his living. He loved this little piece of property.

Isaac joined Stiles by the side door, dressed in a white v-neck t-shirt and dark jeans ten minutes later. Stiles grinned.

“Okay, so I’ve been informed I get a little, what’s the word, over-enthusiastic about the gardens, and I just want to warn you about that. Even Scott says it’s weird, and he’s accustomed to my particular brand of weird.”

“I think I can handle it.”

“If you say so. Come on. Let’s get started!”

Stiles started out, Isaac trailing behind. Stiles was the tour guide on these little excursions with interested guests, and he loved it. He started at the front of inn, standing by the sign.

“Okay, so, how much of the tour do you want?”

“Might as well go for all of it? I really don’t have anything else to do, Stiles. At all.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, sort of.”

Stiles chuckled.

“Well, this is Berry Hill Gardens Bed and Breakfast, originally built by the Hayes family and named the Hayes Inn. It traded hands a bunch of times and had a bunch of different names until 1992 when my mother, Claudia Stilinski bought it and changed the name to Berry Hill Gardens. In 2000, my mother died and left the inn to me in her will. Currently all of the berry bushes are dormant for winter but will start growing soon when it starts getting consistently warm. However, on the property there are ­­nine kinds of berry bushes; strawberries, blueberries, elderberries, blackberries, raspberries, tayberries, cranberries, gooseberries, and huckleberries. Do you want to see them?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You wanted the full tour, buddy boy.”

Isaac grinned and gestured for him to lead on. Stiles walked around the side opposite the garage, passing by the grove of crab apple trees.

“So, Mom was delighted when those crab apple trees matured enough to start growing apples, because she had this competition every fall of who could throw the crab apples the furthest. Dad always won, but Mom let me win sometimes when it was just the two of us. But, anyway, I didn’t know what the difference between a crab apple and an edible apple was when I was little, so I found one on the ground when Mom wasn’t paying attention and took a couple big bites out of it. I got so sick, and Mom was not happy with me, but I learned my lesson. And I have won every throwing competition since.”

Isaac laughed.

“It’s not the apples fault you were dumb.”

“That’s what apple sympathizers would say.”

“Right.”

Stiles led Isaac along the treeline. The property backed right into and included some of the wooded area of Beacon Hills, which eventually turned into the Preserve that Stiles and Scott used to haunt as juvenile delinquents. There was an old, abandoned mansion in the Preserve that used to belong to the Hales, but they had left ages ago after one of the sons’ girlfriends had tried to burn it down since she was crazy.

“Okay, so that little cabin is the Honeymoon Cabin. It’s not used much, usually only when there’s a wedding here, but it has a full kitchen, a bedroom, a living room and a full bathroom. It’s really nice in there. Mom and Dad used to live in that instead of in the inn before I was born, but once I started growing too big, we moved into those back rooms. Those used to be storage, and overflow guests.”

“Overflow?”

“Yeah, if all of our rooms were booked, but someone showed up in desperate need of a room, Mom would let them stay in one of those rooms.”

“Your mom sounds amazing.”

“She really was.”

Stiles walked Isaac to the lake and they sat on the grass at the lake’s edge where it lapped gently at the dirt and sand.

“This place is amazing, Stiles. It’s so beautiful, and you take care of it so well,” Isaac said softly, bumping Stiles’ shoulder with his own. Stiles bit back a smile. “You’re really lucky to have this.”

“Yeah, I am.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Value 5/5**

**Location 5/5**

**Sleep Quality 3/5**

**Rooms 5/5**

**Cleanliness 5/5**

**Service 5/5**

**My favorite place to paint**

I have been going to Berry Hill Gardens to paint for many, many years. Not only it is gorgeous, the breakfasts are incredible and the host is lovely! It is a totally quiet, the gardens are spectacular, it is a perfect place to unwind from the pressures of city life. I go at least twice a year and enjoy every minute!

 

 

Stiles got the call less than 24 hours before the sale was set to happen.

“I’m really sorry, Stiles, that this is so late, but one of our bakers has strep throat, and we don’t have enough time to wrangle another parent into helping,” the president of the PTA, Miranda Martin, Lydia’s mother, begged. “And I know you’re always willing to help out the community. So, will you put in a couple dozen cupcakes for the Bake Sale tomorrow?”

“You know I’m always down for a bake sale to help a good cause. What is the PTA raising the money for this time?”

“New tables in the lunchroom,” Miranda answered.

“Those things were hazardous when I was a kid.”

“And they’ve only gotten worse.”

“Alright, I’ll be there. Anything particular you need me to stay away from this time?”

“Just the usual, Stiles,” she said.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, Miranda.”

“Thank you, Stiles. This means a lot to me, and to the kids.”

Stiles and Miranda hung up, leaving Stiles standing in the kitchen alone. He could manage a couple dozen cupcakes, especially since the only guest in his inn was Isaac still. Not that he was complaining, because he got to spend time with the kid.

He pulled out one of his mom’s cake recipe books, a thick book with a cracked spine and notes scribbled into almost every page, old post it notes marking Claudia’s favorites in pink and Stiles’ favorites in blue. He flipped to Claudia’s favorite chocolate cupcake recipe, which he knew by heart. He just liked to see his mother’s fading handwriting along the margins of the recipe, directing substitutions and additions into the recipe to make it 100% pure Claudia.

Isaac wandered in as he tended to do when Stiles wasn’t in his general vicinity with a book from the living room in hand. He sank onto a bar stool at the island and laid the book down without a word.

“What are you reading today?” Stiles asked, moving to the pantry. Isaac had a different book nearly every single day since he’d been there. It was impressive the amount of books the boy zipped through, Stiles had to admit.

“Oh, The Casual Vacancy,” Isaac answered, showing Stiles the cover of the thick, hardcover book.

“How is it so far?”

“I,” he paused, with the most puzzled look on his face. “I don’t know yet. It’s weird, not what I was expecting.”

“Those are always the best books,” Stiles said, checking to make sure he had all of the ingredients. “I always find myself drawn to books without descriptions. Curiosity, and all that. Scott’s mom’s rule for books is only to read books that look like they’re falling apart. The better loved they are, the more of a guarantee you’ll have that it’s good.”

“Not a bad policy,” Isaac agreed, tracking Stiles from the pantry to the refrigerator as he continued to tick off ingredients. “What are you doing?”

“Lydia’s mother called me about a bake sale that Beacon Hills Primary School is hosting tomorrow and they need me to make a couple dozen cupcakes for them, which I agreed to.”

“Of course.”

“And I need to make sure I have everything for them before I start.”

“You’re going to start now?”

“No, but I just like being prepared. I have a couple things to do before the weekend, since we have a couple bookings.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, one couple is celebrating their 10th year anniversary, another is in need of a getaway, and the last I’m not sure about, they were very short with me on the phone, so I guess we’ll see. My point is that I want to make sure that I have the cupcakes at least ready to be prepared before I go off and fix other things and forget that I don’t have oil or something.”

Isaac nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense. Sort of.”

“I endeavor to make sort-of sense,” Stiles replied, satisfied that he had all of his ingredients. “Do you want to help? I mean, I know you said you can’t cook, but baking is actually pretty hard to fuck up.”

“And yet,” Isaac trailed off. “Trust me, I can’t cook, and you wouldn’t want me to try.”

“Trust me, Isaac, I will get you in the kitchen before you leave Beacon Hills,” Stiles replied. “And you won’t burn anything down. I won’t let that happen.”

Isaac smiled a bit and ducked his head back into the book.

Stiles headed up to each room that was booked, and went through the room preparation checklist he had in his head. He was quick about it, mostly because no one had stayed in the rooms since he’d last cleaned it. He opened the windows to air them out, propped open the door to let the air circulate through the inn, and fluffed the pillows. He set a reminder on his phone to put the corresponding chocolate-colored berries on each of the pillows before check-in, and headed back. When he returned downstairs, he found Isaac exactly where he left him, buried in the book at the island.

“You wanna keep me company while I make dozens of cupcakes?” Stiles asked, leaning against the other side of the island. Isaac tucked the front cover of the book jacket over the page he was reading and shut the book, setting it down on the counter.

“As long as I don’t have to help, I can do that,” Isaac answered.

“Okay, well, I am going to ask you some questions. If that’s okay. You don’t have to answer if they’re too personal. I know, personally, I don’t like people asking too many questions,” Stiles said. He took down two bowls, one for the cupcake mix and one for the icing.

“Go ahead, I’m a lot tougher than you seem to give me credit for,” Isaac said with a playful smile.

Stiles couldn’t stop his smile in return.

“This is going to be the most invasive question in my regimen, then, if you’re such a tough guy.”

“Go on, then.”

“What is your favorite color?”

“Oh, now you’ve crossed a line. I will not stand for this kind of treatment,” Isaac replied in false outrage. “Green. Yours?”

“Blue,” Stiles answered, tugging at the blue plaid shirt he’d tugged on that morning. “Do you have a favorite book? Or book series?”

“Harry Potter.”

“I’ll keep you around, then. Who would you want with you if you were stranded on a deserted island?”

“Derek, my uncle.”

“Any specific reason?”

“Derek can get himself out of anything; I figure a deserted island would be a piece of cake for him.”

“What does he do?”

“I’ve never been entirely sure. I think he’s an FBI agent, or a US marshal. Whatever it is, he’s very good at his job, and he’s almost never home. But he’s there when you need him, no matter what.”

“That must pay extremely well if he’s paying for you to stay here this long. I don’t mean to be rude, but this place is not exactly cheap.”

“Not extremely, but he has an inheritance from his family that’s just collecting interest, and the most he’s done with it is buy a Camaro he never drives because Laura has it in Seattle.”

“Interesting,” Stiles hummed. He started to gather his ingredients, feeling Isaac follow him with his eyes. “Next question, then. How would your friends describe you?”

“I don’t know, I don’t.” Isaac took a deep breath and continued. “I don’t have any friends. I was a bit of a freak at school.”

“Well, your classmates were obviously wrong.”

“All of a hundred of them?”

“All of them. When I was in school, I was the spastic, never stopped talking, always in trouble kid whose mother died and lived in the local B&B. I was weird, but not in the way my classmates thought I was weird, y’know? I was weird on my own account; the rest of their opinions weren’t wanted. That didn’t stop Jackson from giving them, but I survived, and now I own my own business, and am dating his ex-girlfriend.”

“Really? Lydia?”

“She’s a popular, good-looking girl, he’s a popular, good-looking guy; it makes sense, really. I’m the anomaly here.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re an anomaly,” Isaac said quietly, his eyes down on the counter when Stiles turned back to him.

“Alright, I have to ask,” Stiles said without thinking, setting his armload of dry ingredients down onto the counter across from Isaac. “Who is this uncle that is just paying for you to hide out in a small town until things are settled in Seattle? Do you understand how sketchy this sounds? Are you in witness protection? Is your name even Isaac? Did you see someone get murdered? Is that why you’re he-”

“I didn’t see anyone get murdered,” Isaac laughed. “My name really is Isaac. I’m not under witness protection, and yes, I’ve been aware that it’s a very sketchy situation, especially if you don’t know all of the details.”

“I’m not going to be, like, killed by the mafia, then?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, figuring he probably had crossed a line. He wanted to press on, though.

“Derek isn’t actually my uncle,” Isaac said after a moment. “He’s just a friend of the family, and he got me out of a bad situation. He’s got some connections up in Seattle, his two sisters, I think, live up there, and he just wants me to be safe. He knows I’m safe here for now, so, he’ll pay whatever you need or want to keep me here.”

“Do you want to stay here?”

“It’s nice.”

“That’s not a yes. If this guy is worried about your bad situation, I’m assuming that anything would be nicer than where you were, but that doesn’t mean you actually want to be here.”

Isaac just stared at Stiles for a moment, keeping their gazes held in place before he reached out and snagged Stiles’ hand. He twined their fingers together and smiled.

“Stiles, I want to be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for the wait!! Thank you to all of the anons and non-anons who have poked and prodded me recently to get this updated! I would've had it up sooner but I've been having some health issues and took care of myself before I continued to work on this chapter. Here's hoping the next chapter comes a bit easier, and finds you a bit sooner.


	8. Chapter 8

**Overall 5/5**

**Beautiful**

Beautiful old house connecting to Beacon Hills’ nature preserve. A friend stayed and told me she loved it and thanked me for recommending it. The young man who runs it is wonderful and always offers a hand or advice on events going on in the small, friendly town just down the road. I especially felt safe with a Sheriff on premise most of the night I spent there. Some day I hope to spend a night there to give a better review.

 

Isaac was a voracious reader, Stiles noted, watching him the next day. It was the Sheriff’s day off so they were sitting quietly in the living room, trying not to make too much noise and wake him while he slept. Isaac had torn through The Casual Vacancy like it wasn’t 503 pages long in just a day or so. He also managed to blow through We Were Liars in less than 12 hours in the same day.

Stiles was impressed.

He read like a dehydrated man guzzled down water, like it was the only thing that might save him. He read like if he didn’t, he might not as well live at all.

“Good morning, boys,” the Sheriff said, swinging into the living room with a half-full mug of coffee. He sank into a seat beside Stiles. “Since I have two strapping young men in the house, I am going to use this to my full advantage, I hope you realize that.”

“Oh, god. The attic,” Stiles groaned automatically.

“There’s an attic?” Isaac asked, looking up towards the ceiling.

“Yeah, there’s an attic full of crap from over the years, and it needs to be cleaned out. And Scott always conveniently has to go pick his mom up from work whenever we mention cleaning out the attic.”

“Can I make up some convenient excuse this time?” Stiles asked. “My dog ate my homework so Lydia is taking me shopping for a new one?”

“Don’t even, Stiles. I won’t hear of it. You and Isaac are helping me clean out the attic, no ifs, ands, or buts. Do you understand me?”

“This is child labor, you know.”

“You own your own business, Stiles. You are legally allowed to work as much as I want.”

“Ugh,” Stiles groaned, throwing himself back against the cushions on the couch.

“Oh, stop it. It’s not like you have anything better to do while you wait for Lydia or Scott to get out of school.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at his father.

“And Isaac? What’s your excuse for him?”

“I am a weak old man and I could use his youth,” the Sheriff said.

“I don’t mind, actually,” Isaac said eventually, breaking the staring contest between father and son. The Sheriff would’ve won, Stiles knew, as he always did. Stiles got his stubbornness from his father, and from his mother, but his mind also had a tendency to wander. His attention span lost him all staring contests, and every “let’s see who can be quiet the longest” game in his life. “I like manual labor. Good for the soul, I guess?”

“Ahh, a boy after my own heart. Why couldn’t you have grown up like that?” the Sheriff asked, gesturing towards Isaac.

“You cannot blame me for growing up wrong when you’re the one who raised me,” Stiles said. “Finish your coffee and we’ll get started, if there’s no way I can talk you out of this.”

“There isn’t.”

“Isaac, do you want some coffee before we’re forced to drag belongings from the attic to front hall where we will attempt to get them to a donation bin sometime before December?”

Isaac chuckled but declined while the Sheriff gave Stiles an unamused glance up from his coffee mug.

Three hours later, the trio were still lugging boxes of Stiles’ old toys and Claudia’s clothes down the stairs with no end in sight.

“You had an awful lot of toys for one kid. Do you remember having this many toys?” the Sheriff asked, huffing as he carried a big, dusty box full of action figures and plastic dinosaurs and cars with three or less wheels.

“I was an only child, and I think this box is actually Scott’s,” Stiles said, poking at the box Isaac was depositing at the foot of the steps by the front door.

“How did Scott’s t- I actually don’t want to know.”

The three trudged up and down the stairs, Isaac working efficiently and diligently while Stiles and the Sheriff snipped and snarked at each other. It wasn’t that big of an attic, Stiles thought, but yet the years had found it filled to the very brim with furniture and chests of gifts they never used and antiques inherited from relatives long since passed. It was filled with memories, with sentiment, with grief and loss, with joy and happiness.

There was an old armoire at the back, and when Stiles tugged it open, he found Claudia’s wedding dress tucked inside along with the tuxedo his father wore on their wedding day as well as quite a few other dresses, probably bridesmaids dresses with tags indicating which one was worn when. Stiles bit down on his tongue to keep his eyes from welling up just as Isaac’s hand rested comfortingly on his arm, grounding him.

His grandmother in Poland, Babcia was big on shipping them large stone eagles, to show they were Polish and would not forget it. His grandmother in Utah was also fond of shipping them expansive collections of encyclopedias in as many languages as she could get her hands on so they could show them off in the inn.

Every extravagant gift from every extremist family member they had from here to Zosin, Poland had somehow wound up in the attic, collecting dust and taking up space. Luckily, none of the extremist family members tended to venture very far from their front doors or else, they might have to lug down their gifts every time family came to visit like they were Emily Gilmore.

“This thing is made out of concrete, I swear to every single god I can think of,” Stiles grunted out as Isaac and he tried to move an empty chest from the center of the attic towards the corner. They tried pushing it, they tried lifting it, Stiles even considered and maybe even tried to use the force at one point.

Nothing was moving it.

Isaac stood back, hands on his hips as they both panted.

“It’s just gonna have to stay right there, unless you’re holding out on me with some serious superpowers,” Stiles said.

“Well, I do have a secret,” Isaac replied, his tone dropping gravely as he stared directly at Stiles. “I’m super fast, super strong, have super hearing, and on occasion, I howl at the moon.”

“Hardy har, Lahey. Laugh it on up.”

Isaac cracked a smile and shuffled his feet.

“My dad is just gonna have to admit defeat on this one. It’s a lost cause.”

“Oh, now, don’t talk about yourself that way,” Isaac said with an almost flirtatious smile. Stiles stared in disbelief. This is the same boy that sat around and read all day, barely saying a word to him, who opens up and then clams shut, the same boy who has been nothing but polite to him and his father since he’d shown up. The flirting was a nice change, a welcome change.

He liked this side of Isaac.

He stepped closer to Isaac as Isaac took a step towards him. Isaac skimmed a hand down the outside of his arm, slotting their fingers together at the end with a shy, tentative smile. Stiles couldn’t help as his gaze flicked down to stare at Isaac’s mouth. Isaac’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Stiles was gone.

There was no turning back from this.  

“Okay, I’ve called a charity that’s willing to come pick most of this stuff up tonight,” the Sheriff called up the stairs, starting up them. Isaac pulled away violently, his hand leaving Stiles’ like he’d been burned. Stiles stifled down his disappointment.

“What’s the catch?” Stiles asked.

“I promised we’d donate a free weekend to the charity auction.”

Stiles groaned.

“Dad!”

“I’m sorry. You had a point that it would just sit there for months, and you have guests checking in tomorrow!”

Stiles grumbled but gestured towards the stairs.

“I’ll go write up the voucher, then. You go finish sorting the donations.”

“Why do I have to do the dirty work?”

“Because I hate vouchers as much as you hate sorting. Go, and maybe I’ll forgive you enough to feed you dinner tonight,” Stiles said, waving his hand at his father. He stuck his tongue out childishly in response. “Who voted you sheriff again? We might need to put them through vigorous therapy sessions.”

“I will ground you. You’re under 18. I can still do that.”

“Yeah, yeah, promises, promises. Move it on along, Daddy-O.”

The Sheriff disappeared down the attic stairs, leaving the pair alone.

“Hey, you wanna see something?” Stiles asked, nudging Isaac. “It’s a lot more fun than watching my father mutter to himself about me being the bane of his existence or me mutter about voucher in Polish. I promise.”

“You speak Polish?”

“Broken Polish, mostly. My mom’s side of the family came over from Poland when she was a child, and Mom taught it to me before she died. Sort of. The rest I’ve taught myself. It keeps Babcia happy, and I have the added advantage of being bilingual, which looks good on any application or resume.”

“That’s amazing.”

“I guess. So, the thing? Wanna see it?”

“Is it illegal?” Isaac asked.

“No, nothing illegal. Nothing harmful. Nothing scarring. Just something I like. You don’t have to, if you don’t want, of course. I just, I thought you might like to see it.”

Isaac stared at Stiles as if assessing him before nodding. “Yeah, okay. Let’s see it.”

Stiles laced their hands together and led him down the attic steps and then down the main stairwell. The Sheriff was right where Stiles thought he would be, knelt by a big box of old toys, rifling through while he muttered out curses. Stiles led them through the dining room and the kitchen, then into the back hallway and finally into Stiles’ room. It was a simple room with a bed, a desk, and a dresser with posters of bands and pictures of him and Scott, him and his dad, him and his mom tacked up on the walls. It wasn’t messy; he hadn’t ever been a messy room kind of kid, even when he was young. He had enough clutter in his head; he didn’t need it in his living space as well.

“Here, sit,” Stiles said, letting go of Isaac to gesture to the bed. Isaac sank down, and then bounced. Stiles pulled the box, an old shoebox from when Claudia was still alive, out from underneath his bed.

“You’re not about to show me your sex toys, are you?” Isaac asked, stilling.

“No, I keep my sex toys in the bedside table,” Stiles said without thinking and then shut his eyes out of shame. “Sorry. I have no filter sometimes. This is much, much more innocent.”

He sank onto the bed beside Isaac and popped open the box, setting the lid aside. Inside was an array of trinkets and items left behind.

“This is my treasure chest, sort of.”

He took each item out separately, laying it gently on the bedspread between them until the bed was almost filled with jewelry, watches, pens, notebooks, books, gifts they’d bought loved ones back home, paint brushes, make up.

“People leave stuff behind when they check out. I collect it, the stuff people forget about.”

Isaac touched a watch from a trucker who’d just divorced his wife, and then a diamond earring left on the kitchen counter. He stopped on a leatherbound journal, the name inscribed in the cover; _For My Dearest Julianne_. He traced the words carefully, delicately.

“These are beautiful, Stiles,” Isaac said quietly, almost reverently. “No one comes looking for them?”

“Most can’t be bothered. Once they get back to their busy city lives, it’s like these things never existed. Some things don’t matter, just things they can pick up at the drug store on the way home from work. Some things can’t be replaced, but they’re too busy to come looking, so they try to replace them anyway. People are extraordinarily materialistic for beings that are chronic forgetters. A newly wed left her wedding ring here, massive thing, added an extra two pounds, I swear. She called me up and accused me of stealing it to sell, as if I hadn’t just made a fortune off her and her wedding party. She’d left it on the sink in the honeymoon suite, of course, but try convincing her that she’d forgotten the symbol of her love and devotion already, not three days after she’d said her vows.”

Isaac picked up a bottle of sand and turned it over in his hands.

“What made you start? Collecting, I mean.”

“I don’t know. I used to help my mom clean up the rooms when I was little. Sometimes I’d find things, and I’d stick them in my pocket before she could see. The first thing I ever found was this,” he said, lifting up a small porcelain bird figurine. “I set it up on my bedside table and would say goodnight to it, make sure it knew that someone loved it. Then I found more and more things, and soon I had a bedside table full of things that I would say goodnight to, and tell each of them that I loved them.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want them to feel like they weren’t loved, or like they didn’t matter. I was a very bighearted little kid. Scott and I used to bring home animals we found in the Preserve, and we would look after them as best as we could while trying to keep them a secret. Mom or Melissa would catch us, tell us that they were wild animals, and they probably wanted to get back to their families in the wild. We would tell them we loved them, that we would miss them, and then we set them free. These are a lot easier to take care of,” he said, motioning to the bedspread.

“Did your mom ever find out about this?” Isaac made the same sweeping motion.

“Oh, yeah. I couldn’t keep anything from her. I tried a couple of times but I always ended up caving and telling her the truth anyway. This one, though,” he said with a quiet laugh. “Well, I tried to keep this from her. I think I was ashamed, maybe. I didn’t want her to think I was pathetic. She caught me saying goodnight to them, and she asked me about it. I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about. Asked me where I got all of these new toys, because she knew she hadn’t gotten them for me, and she was pretty sure that Melissa wouldn’t buy me a diamond bracelet.”

Isaac laughed.

“Mom was the best at handling me. I was a wild child most of the time, before they got me on the right medication. She told me that it wasn’t right that I kept all of this stuff when it could be returned to its owners. I told her that it wasn’t right that their owners should get to have them back if they didn’t love them enough to remember them. Mom let me continue after that, even kept some things safe for me for when I got home from school.”

“That’s sweet,” Isaac said.

“Yeah. It was me and Mom’s secret until now. Not even Scott or Lydia know. And I don’t think Dad knows either, since he’s big on the law.”

Isaac looked up at him, eyes wide.

“No one else?”

“Nope, just you, me, and Claudia Stilinski.”

“Why me, though?”

Stiles shrugged. He didn’t want to say that Isaac sparked the same feeling in his gut that these objects did. He didn’t want to say that he thought of Isaac as some forgotten trinket, dropped behind a bed or left carelessly on the counter. He didn’t want to say that he felt like Isaac should be told goodnight every night and that he was loved. He didn’t want to say that he wanted to keep Isaac so his previous home couldn’t have him back.

“I don’t know. I trusted you, is all.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [strangeredlantern](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Strangeredlantern/pseuds/Strangeredlantern), because sno-balls.  
> Also, a major thanks to my best friend in the whole wide universal universe, Meredith for you know, beta'ing and being my best friend and shit. :)

**Value 4/5**

**Location 4/5**

**Sleep Quality 5/5**

**Rooms 4/5**

**Cleanliness 4/5**

**Service 4/5**

**Great place, great hosts, great food, great view!**

We had a thoroughly nice stay--waking up from a sound night's sleep to such a gorgeous and peaceful view! We will never forget your kindness and charming hospitality and great food. The flowers were so welcoming. Keep up the good work!  
My first experience at a B&B was so pleasant. We will certainly do it again. You took care of everything we needed. You made us feel so welcome. We had a great relaxing stay and the shower was awesome. Hope to stay with you again soon. The stay here was so relaxing, away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. We could not have picked a better place to stay. Great stay! Enjoyed walking in your summer wonderland and sleeping in your cozy nest. Priceless evenings spent gazing at the flowers, trees and lake. I enjoyed spending the evening on the front porch taking in the calmness of nature.   
Loved the Cranberry room! We loved our room, so efficient and clean. Delicious and plentiful breakfast. Quality time spent with family was most enjoyable.   
Wonderfully peaceful and private retreat surrounded by beautiful scenery; gracious hospitality warm breakfast greetings, worth coming back again. Comfort and accommodation were exceptional! The only thing is that my stay was a little too short.

 **Room Tip** : Definitely the Cranberry Room

 

“Hey, you wanna help me out?” Stiles asked Isaac who had found himself a secluded corner on the back porch away from the guests now milling around the grounds. “I’m making dinner now so when it comes time for that, all Dad has to do is throw it together.”

“I really shouldn’t be anywhere near the kitchen,” Isaac replied, setting his book down in his lap. He was reading the Across the Universe trilogy, Stiles noted, and was already on the second book since starting the series the day before. He wondered briefly if Isaac slept at night or if he just breezed through books as a form of resting.

“Please? I need someone to chop the fruit for fruit salad, and Scott isn’t going to be here for another two hours. Please, Isaac?”

Stiles pushed out his lower lip and widened his eyes like he’d seen Scott do before, and if there was anyone you wanted to model your puppy face after, it was Scott McCall. He even bat his eyes slowly until Isaac sighed and shut the book. Stiles grinned and beckoned Isaac into the kitchen.

“Why do you need me to cut up fruit?” Isaac asked.

“Because I’ve got limited time and an actual dinner to prepare.”

“Limited time?”

“Yeah, I’ve got that dumb thing with Lydia tonight,” Stiles said, making a face at the thought. “So I’m pre-making dinner so that when the guests get hungry, Dad can just throw it together with as little steps as possible.”

“If you don’t want to go, why are you going?” Isaac asked, setting his book down on a clean space on the counter.

“Have you ever had a girlfriend?” Stiles asked in reply.

“No, girls aren’t really, well, my type. I had a friend in school, name was Erica, who people used to think I was dating, and I just let that rumor float around so nobody found out I was,” he paused and shrugged. “I didn’t want it getting back to my dad was all, but no, no girlfriend.”

“No boyfriend, then, either?”

“No, no boys I liked enough to risk it,” Isaac said.

“Well, just take my word for it; if your girlfriend is Lydia, you do what she says.”

“Even if you don’t want to?”

“I have my limits, but I do what I can to make her happy. If Lydia wants me to go to some dumb benefit thing hosted by my nemesis’ rich parents, then I will go to the dumb benefit hosted by my nemesis’ rich parents, and I will look damn good doing it,” Stiles replied with a grin. Isaac returned it easily.

“What am I doing?”

“Just cutting up some fruit, that’s all. We have grapes, strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, and I want to make some cantaloupe infused water for everyone, since that’s generally a big hit. I tried strawberry and mint once, which I thought was delicious, but apparently I was the only one. Cucumber water also gets drank a lot, a lot more than the grapefruit or the lemon lime, but I think they’re all equally good,” Stiles explained, waving his hands around as he pulled out all of the fruit Isaac would be making into a salad.

“How come you’ve never made it before now?”

“I normally only make it for the guests, since it’s just me and Dad, and Dad complains about it because he says I force enough vegetables and tofu down his throat, that I should leave his drinks alone but if you like it, I will make some for you. I like having it around, but I can’t drink a whole pitcher of it by myself. Sometimes, Lydia or Melissa will stop by and I’ll make it for everyone. But, mostly, I don’t.”

Stiles knew he was talking too much. He was internally freaking out about this benefit dinner as well as leaving the inn to his father for the night with the rooms filled. He didn’t want to make a fool out of himself, and he certainly didn’t want to humiliate Lydia like he was apt to do. He didn’t want anything happening here while he was gone, because this was his business and this was his life and it wasn’t like he didn’t trust his father, but with Isaac and a full house, things were bound to go to hell.

“Stiles?”

“What?”

“You kind of, I don’t know, just stopped talking midsentence.”

“Sorry, I’m just worrying, is all. Just, rinse these off in the sink, the colander is right there,” he said, half-heartedly gesturing towards the hook the colander hung on to the right of the sink. “And then chop them up.”

He flitted back and forth while Isaac followed his directions beautifully. He brought ingredients out of the refrigerator and the pantry, leaving them on the counters where they’d be the most useful.

“So what are you making?” Isaac asked.

“Casserole, that way all Dad and Scott have to do is pop it in the oven when it comes dinner time.”

His father could cook, but only basics like spaghetti and grilled cheese. Scott, well, Scott wasn’t to be trusted in the kitchen on his own. He tried. Lord knows, the boy tried but Scott just never got the hang of cooking. Stiles tried to teach him, too, but that only led to frustration and burned meals, and Stiles had long since learned that his friendship was more important than Scott knowing how to cook.

“Hey,” Isaac said quietly.

“What’s up?” Stiles replied.

“I need a bowl. Please.”

“Oh, right! Duh! Of course!” Stiles chuckled, swinging around to a cupboard full of glass bowls. He plucked out the right size and its lid from the heaping pile of bowls and serving dishes, and placed it beside Isaac. He went back to his casserole, singing softly a folk song his Babcia taught him while he worked.

“What is that?” Isaac asked.

“Oh, uhh, Lipka Zielona. It’s a Polish folk song,” he explained. “I can stop if it’s bothering you. I just, uhhh, habit, I guess.”

“No, no,” Isaac replied quickly, the tips of his ears turning pink. “It’s fine. I was just curious. My mom used to sing in the kitchen too, but she sang in English.”

“What’d she sing?”

“Normally along with the radio, but she had these tapes she would pop into the stereo with all these girl rockers that she would sing along to. I know a lot of Melissa Ethridge and Stevie Nicks.”

“My mom was really into songs from home, but only when we were home,” Stiles replied. “She sang classic rock when we were out in public to try and embarrass me.”

“Did it work?”

“Nah. I would just start singing songs from the shows I watched back then back at her. I always won.”

“What songs?”

“Theme songs, mostly. Cat Dog, Spongebob, Powerpuff Girls, Danny Phantom, Pokemon!”

“That is amazing.”

Stiles couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up out of his mouth. He hadn’t told anyone this much in years. He hadn’t had to. He had a grand total of two friends, Scott who had lived it with him and Lydia who didn’t like getting into the past because it was painful for both of them. He liked sharing these parts of him with Isaac, and having Isaac share parts of him in return. He liked having someone to talk to, actually. Being a teenaged business owner was lonely, especially in a tiny town when your life revolved around staying home.

This life worked for him, but it was so lonely.

Scott came around when he could, but he was on the lacrosse team and he worked at Deaton’s Animal Clinic and he was dating Allison and he visited his mom at work so he could actually see her, so they didn’t get to spend a lot of time together.

Lydia stopped by after school to do homework, but she also had her own obligations, such as Allison and her mother and her father and maintaining her image. She always made sure to carve a Stiles-sized space into her schedule, though, so he was grateful for that.

He needed more friends.

He was grateful for Isaac’s presence in the inn.

He was grateful for Isaac’s presence in his life.

Isaac placed in front of Stiles a full bowl of chopped up fruit with a proud grin on his face. All of the fruit sparkled in the afternoon light from water that hadn’t dried yet, and Stiles grinned back at Isaac.

“Pop the lid on that and slide it onto any free space you can find in the fridge,” Stiles instructed. He abandoned the casserole, halfway to done, and pulled out the largest bottom spout pitcher he had, then pulled out the ice bucket from his freezer and set it beside the pitcher. He watched Isaac return to the island carrying a small knife in one hand, and the cantaloupe in the other.

“So, how do I cut this?” he asked.

“Well, first of all,” Stiles said, taking the small knife from him and dropping it in the sink. He pulled one of the large, more threatening knives from his block, and placing it in Isaac’s hand. “You’re gonna need this.”

Isaac’s eyes grew wide as he stared at the knife in his hand.

“Don’t worry. Just be careful with it, and you won’t hurt yourself. I’m the clumsiest person I know, and I’ve never cut myself.”

Isaac nodded slowly, then put the cantaloupe on the counter.

“Okay, you’re going to cut it in half, first. And then cut each of those halves in half, and all of those into halves.”

“So, lots of halving.”

“Exactly.”

“What do I do after I’m done halving?”

“One step at a time, kid,” Stiles chuckled, turning back to his casserole dish. The kitchen was silent save for the sound of Isaac’s knife hitting the counter as it finished slicing through the cantaloupe.

Until Isaac let out a hiss and a curse, the knife clattering to the marble countertop.

Stiles spun around and rushed to Isaac’s side, finding the boy holding his finger out away from anything as it started bleeding profusely.

“See? I told you I shouldn’t be in the kitchen,” Isaac joked, voice cracking.

“Come on, let’s go get this bandaged,” Stiles said.

“I’m a big boy, Stiles,” Isaac replied while Stiles led him into the back rooms and into his bathroom. “I can take care of my own boo-boo.”

“Okay, let’s just be honest, I don’t trust you at this point to take care of it on your own.”

Isaac scoffed.

“I’ve taken care of more cuts and bruises than you have, I can assure you.”

Stiles frowned, confused. He sat Isaac down on the toilet cover, and rifled through the sink’s cupboard, pulling out his first aid kit. It was held in an Avengers tin, but no longer held any Avengers-themed bandages. Instead, there were just regular Band-Aids and gauze from brand name boxes. The get well stickers remained, and Stiles smiled at them. He pulled out the alcohol wipes and the Band-Aid, settling between Isaac’s knees and took his hand carefully in his own.

“What do you mean?” he finally asked, screwing up his courage as best as he could.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Isaac muttered.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Stiles said.

Isaac looked down at Stiles, even as Stiles concentrated on patching up Isaac’s finger. It wasn’t deep, but Stiles knew how much finger wounds could bleed. He’d nicked his finger on the lock on the shower door in the locker room one time and it hadn’t stopped bleeding for an hour. He’d had to change his Band-Aid several times before it stopped.

“My dad, he, uhhh,” Isaac started and stopped. He took a deep breath. “Holy shit. This is a lot more difficult than I thought it was going to be.”

“Seriously,” Stiles said, tilting his face up to look at Isaac. Isaac stared back at him. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable. I understand.”

“No, no, I want to. Just, give me a second.”

“Okay.”

Isaac drew in slow, purposeful breaths and let them out just as slow. Stiles focused on his task, letting Isaac collect his thoughts.

“It started after my brother died.”

Stiles closed his eyes while Isaac spoke.

“My dad didn’t know how to handle losing my mom and then my brother, and he just, he took his grief and anger out on me.”

Stiles breathed in deep.

“He would,” Isaac paused. Stiles took his uninjured hand for support, opening his eyes to look at their fingers laced together. “He would lock me in a freezer when I was bad, when I didn’t cook dinner just the right way or I didn’t get high enough grades.”

Isaac’s voice wavered.

“You’re away from that now. You’re safe here,” Stiles assured him, looking Isaac directly in his eyes. He had beautiful eyes, bright blue irises twinkling even under the harsh fluorescent lighting.

“Derek seems to think so,” Isaac replied.

“Derek is right. I’m not gonna let anyone get you here, okay? You’ll _always_ be safe here. I promise.”

They paused, frozen in time for a moment, just staring at each other. Stiles’ eyes flicked down to Isaac’s mouth, that perfect, pink mouth, and back up a second later to find Isaac doing the same. He self-consciously licked his lower lip, and heard Isaac take a quick gasp of breath before he surged down and drew Stiles into a deep, clashing kiss. Stiles drew up closer to Isaac, sliding his hands along Isaac’s powerful jaw and into his thick blonde curls. Isaac’s own hands slid along his neck and shoulders, gripping the material of his sleeves tightly in his fists. Stiles had kissed a whole four people in his life; Heather, his best friend before Scott, Scott, Matt, his secret boyfriend from college, and Lydia. This kiss blew every single kiss he’d ever had or ever thought about out of the water.

It was rushed and frantic, like the two were trying to make up for all the time they hadn’t spent kissing since the moment Isaac had shown up on Stiles’ doorstep. Maybe they were, Stiles thought. Isaac groaned as Stiles licked into his mouth, Stiles hummed in reply, and somewhere above them, a door shut.

The spell broke and Isaac pulled away, easing his hands from Stiles’ shirt. Stiles released his hands from Isaac’s hair and sat back, still settled comfortably between Isaac’s knees.

“Well, that was,” Stiles chuckled awkwardly, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“Yeah.”

“I should finish getting dinner ready,” Stiles muttered, hopping up and hurrying back to the kitchen, leaving Isaac alone.

 

-&-

 

Lydia swept in an hour later, dressed in shorts and an over-sized t-shirt, her hair pulled up into a clip and her face bare of make-up, carrying two dress bags and a messenger bag Stiles was sure was full of evil.

“Hello Stiles,” Lydia said.

“Hello Satan, here to cart off my soul?”

“After a little work, your soul might be worth something. Now, come along,” she said, leading him through the kitchen and into his back rooms. Stiles followed obediently, however unhappy he was.

“How much work are we talking here? I’ll put on the suit and the tie, and I’ll even gel my hair up, but I have boundaries, Lydia Rose. I refuse to wear make-up, and I draw the line at shiny shoes.”

“You will wear what I tell you, and you will shut your mouth about it,” Lydia replied easily. “Did you shower today?”

“No, I thought I would want for the town bathing day next week, you know, so it can be a community event.”

“Ahh, it’s sounds like you two are getting along fabulously tonight,” the Sheriff commented as he leaned in the doorway to Stiles’ room. “Where are we off to again?”

“The Expensive, Extravagant Dinner to Raise Money for Underprivileged Nematodes,” Stiles answered while Lydia hung her dress bags on the lip of Stiles’ closet door.

“The Whittemore and Glover Annual Benefit Banquet,” Lydia corrected with a roll of her eyes.

“You actually got him to agree to that?” the Sheriff asked, incredulous.

“I asked nicely,” Lydia informed the Sheriff.

“She bribed me with make outs and Star Wars,” Stiles piped in.

“I didn’t need to know that,” the Sheriff replied. Stiles shrugged and tugged his plaid overshirt off. “Why do you tell me things I don’t need to know?”

“I tell everyone things they don’t need to know. You’re not special.”

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes at Stiles.

“Make sure you behave tonight. I don’t need Parrish dragging you back to the house because you couldn’t make it a couple of hours of being polite to people other than your guests.”

“But I like being dragged places by Deputy Pretty Eyes,” Stiles argued.

The Sheriff groaned.

“He is 24, Stiles.”

“And? Jordan Parrish is a treasure to the world’s eyes, thank you very much, father.”

The Sheriff shook his head and left the doorway, leaving the couple to get ready for the banquet alone.

“Jordan Parrish, huh?” Lydia asked, her voice full of humor.

“Oh, stop it. I know you like to look too,” Stiles retorted without looking at her. He pulled his shirt over his head.

“It’s not my fault his ass looks incredible in that uniform.”

“We can agree on that, Ms. Martin. We can _definitely_ agree on that.”

They laughed as they continued to undress. Stiles peaked over his shoulder as Lydia drew the overly-large t-shirt over her head.

“Is that my shirt?” he finally asked, recognizing the faded print as she tossed it towards his hamper.

“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Okay,” he said with a shrug. She was down to just her strapless bra and a pair of black lace panties that contrasted beautifully with her pale, freckled skin. Stiles smiled, watching as she let her strawberry blonde hair tumble down out of its clip.

“Stop staring at me and get your suit on, or else I will have to start taking away parts of our deal,” Lydia threatened without glancing at him.

“I do so under great protest.”

“Protest noted. Get going.”

Stiles got going.

 

-&-

 

“God, I just love seeing you in a suit, Stilinski,” Lydia cooed as she walked Stiles to the door. She had taken her hair down from the crown braid she’d expertly worked it into while Stiles had been fussing with his own mess of hair. “Is there any way I could convince you to dress like this more often?”

“You couldn’t meet my price,” Stiles said, pressing into her side with a grin.

“Mmm, I’m sure I could find a way,” she purred, pressing a kiss into his cheek. “I know how you work, Stilinski.”

“Oh, do you?”

“I do. I got you to go to the banquet, even though you knew Jackson was going to be there. I got you to let me show you off.  I even got you to dress up for it. I know how you work.”

He smiled. She stepped onto the bottom stair and turned to him, finally the same height. Stiles was just under 6 feet and Lydia was just over 5 feet, although her propensity for heels made her look taller.

“That makes one of us, honestly,” Stiles said with a wave of his hands. She captured them in her smaller ones, nails delicately manicured with dainty designs to match her dress for the evening.

“Stiles, I love you,” she said quietly.

“That is the first time you’ve said it first,” he stated. She smiled.

“I mean it. But,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I’m leaving at the end of the summer. I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Lydia, there is a world outside of this inn, this town, this miniscule county that needs you more than I do. Take over MIT, win a Field’s Medal, do whatever geniuses with an IQ higher than most people in this county can count, and be the amazing woman that I know you are. I’ll be here if you need me, I’ll always be right here.”

“What if I don’t need you?”

Stiles chuckled, reaching out to push the hair out of Lydia’s face.

“I’ll still be here.”

“Don’t you want to get out of this town?” Lydia burst out. “This place where nothing ever happens and nothing ever changes? How can you want this?”

“Everything I love is here, Lydia. My dad, Scott, this inn,” he said, gesturing around them. “You, for now.”

“Scott’s leaving in the fall.”

“Scott is leaving for a college an hour away, and I’ll still see him. This is what I want, Lydia. I chose this. I knew I was going to be tied to Beacon Hills when I got my degree. You don’t have to pity me, because I love doing this. Nothing happens, sure, but I kind of like that.”

She gave him a small, sad smile in return.

“Besides, I have people like Isaac to keep me entertained while you are off ruling the world.”

“Ahh, Isaac, I meant to talk to you about him.”

“What do you mean?”

She lets out her most exasperated of exasperated, yet fond sighs, like she can’t believe this is the boy she willingly spends her time with. His father’s sighs were similar in the same exasperation, except his were more of a _why_ _me_ brand.

Scott just laughed.

That’s why Stiles liked Scott the best.

“What are you going to do about him?”

“I’m lost.”

“What are you going to do about Isaac?”

“What do you mean what am I going to do about Isaac? Isaac is a guest who hasn’t done anything wrong.”

The kiss played in his mind, the way Isaac’s hair felt in his hands, the way the contact between them lit a fire underneath Stiles’ skin.

“Stiles, I’m not dumb.”

“I definitely never said you were.”

“I see how you look at him.”

“People keep saying that but I literally have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t look at Isaac any differently than I look at any other guest.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t treat me like I’m just a friend, Stiles. I know you. I know where there’s something more, and you look at that boy like he hung the fucking moon or something!”

“Isaac is just a kid in need, Lydia. There is nothing more to him and me. I assure you, Isaac has not hung any moons. Now, I am going inside. I love you. I look forward to being harassed by you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note, the best playlist to listen to while reading this story is an acoustic coffee shop playlist. So mellow, so fluffy. That is all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Location 1/5**

**Rooms 1/5**

**Dodge This One**

This Inn looked exceptional on the website. However....., when we arrived at the main house we were led by the Owner (?) on a half mile drive with a few turns down a dirt road (with large pot-holes) to the off-site lodging. This place in the middle of the woods was devoid of atmospere, flowers, ambience or charm. It also, most certainly, certainly did not have a lake view as advertised. The Owner was quite rude when we told him it was not what we expected. We've been to dozens of Inns, and have never had this experience, nor have ever been displeased with the premises. Dodge this one.

 

Stiles didn’t recognize what was wrong the next day until he was making lunch without Isaac’s company. He had spent most of the morning hurrying between guests and the gardens and the kitchen and the desk where the phone would not stop ringing. He didn’t have time to think about Isaac not being at breakfast, and he didn’t have time to wonder where his companion was while he was cleaning the inn’s lower floor. He was too busy playing host and housekeeper, which he didn’t mind, of course. This was his career, his occupation, his life. He chose this. He didn’t mind it.

It took him longer than he wanted to admit that he had missed not being around Isaac. He hadn’t noticed that Isaac wasn’t there, and once he noticed, he couldn’t stop noticing. He couldn’t focus on anything but how he should be telling Isaac how to slice up the onions for tonight’s dinner, or talking to Isaac about what book he was reading that day.

Stiles wondered if Isaac had finished A Million Suns yesterday or last night while Stiles was off playing boyfriend to a girl who would be leaving him behind soon. He wondered if Isaac had stayed up to make sure Stiles got in safe like the Sheriff, who wouldn’t admit it, still did.

Stiles kind of hoped he had.

Guests trickled down as the smell of lunch wafted through the house, even drawing the Sheriff out of the back rooms with a smile on his face, but Isaac was not among them. Stiles kept watching the door to the kitchen as he set out the serving dishes on the island, allowing the guests to serve themselves as they pleased. They sat around the big dining room table and chatted amongst themselves, and Stiles kept an eye on the door.

“He’ll be down, kid,” the Sheriff assured Stiles, nudging him with an elbow. “Boy’s gotta eat, right?”

“Yeah, you’re right. You’re right.”

The Sheriff wasn’t right. Isaac didn’t come down for lunch either.

After cleaning up the dishes from lunch, Stiles wanted to head upstairs to check on Isaac, just to make sure he hadn’t died, but as soon as he set foot on the steps, Noshiko, one of the guests staying for her wedding anniversary, appeared from the study.

“Excuse me,” she said. Stiles turned and smiled, hoping it might cover his disappointment. He tended to his guests as they appeared which was every time he thought about going to see Isaac. One needed extra towels, another couldn’t log onto the inn’s Wi-Fi, and another wanted to know about nearby attractions. He fielded calls for future bookings in between attending to his current bookings, and then it was time to start dinner.

Isaac slunk down with a few other guests, quiet as a mouse, and slid into a chair, eating only a small amount and avoiding looking at Stiles. He wasn’t the first to leave, but as soon as Maya Ann claimed that she wanted to go for a walk, Isaac darted upstairs. Stiles watched sadly as Isaac retreated so quickly, his father’s hand coming to rest on his wrist.

“Everyone’s gotta have some time to themselves,” he reminded Stiles. Stiles nodded, trying to remind himself of this as he went through the rest of the day. He washed the dishes, and cleaned the kitchen and dining room, he lit the lanterns along the wrap around porch as guests trickled outside to enjoy the remainder of the day’s sunshine, and he settled into his chair behind the desk to finish up some last minute work he’d been putting off before heading to bed, an ache of loneliness sitting in his chest.

He reminded himself of this every time a guest wandered downstairs the next day and it wasn’t Isaac. He reminded himself of this as he went through the same day-to-day he’d been going through for years.

He wanted Isaac there.

He didn’t know what he’d done, and he wanted to make as many tiny and grand apologies as it took before Isaac forgave him for whatever it was he’d done. He was willing to apologize for something that he hadn’t even meant to do just to have Isaac back with him.

He’d gotten used to not being alone, to not having to talk to himself as he went through his day. He could have conversations with someone, and that someone would respond. It was nice, and comforting, and in the last twenty four hours, Stiles had fucked it up apparently.

God, he really hoped it wasn’t the kiss, and how Stiles had darted back to making dinner.

He had responsibilities, he had other things to worry about, but all he could think about was Isaac.

Isaac, with the sharp cheekbones, and the soft lips, and the incredible jawline. Beautiful, amazing Isaac.

Isaac who Stiles wanted to march upstairs to, and kiss senseless.

Stiles waited until everyone had checked out Sunday afternoon. He didn’t have a strict check-out policy. You could check out whenever you cared as long as no one was coming for your room that day. Stiles tried to keep check outs and check ins for the same room at least a day apart but sometimes, there just wasn’t enough room in the inn for that. The point is, people could leave pretty much whenever they were ready to. However, most people were accustomed to other hotels and inns where you had to check out by 11 in the morning. They dropped in early for a bite of breakfast and then rolled out, heading back to their lives and their responsibilities. Some stragglers waited until after Stiles made lunch before they brought down their luggage, paid off their room, and went on their way. Either way, Stiles was left alone in the inn with one guest before 3 in the afternoon rolled around.

Isaac was the only guest that wouldn’t be checking out today.

Or, Stiles hoped so.

Stiles started dinner around 3:45, trying to play it cool when on the inside he was all knotted up. He wanted to run upstairs. He wanted to knock down Isaac’s door and, given Isaac’s cooperation, press all up in that boy’s space. He wanted to make that boy his, if Isaac still wanted him. It hadn’t been so long since their kiss that Isaac could’ve changed his mind.

Stiles hoped.

He made a dinner of tuna noodle casserole, and tossed together the remains of his vegetables with a bag of iceberg lettuce for a salad. He popped the casserole into the oven, set a timer on his phone to remind himself to not let dinner burn, and started for the stairs. He took a deep breath once he got to the landing and headed down the hall to Isaac’s door. He had to clean the rooms, but he also had to talk to Isaac.

He knocked twice on the door and shuffled his feet.

The door cracked open.

“What?” Isaac grumbled, a sliver of his face visible.

“Can we talk?”

“I guess.”

The door opened as Isaac retreated into the room. Stiles followed him and shut the door. He’d grown up in this inn, had been in every room, had slept in nearly every one of them at some point or another, but this room no longer felt like it belonged in the inn. Isaac didn’t have many belongings, just the pack of clothes he’d brought with him and a few clothes Stiles had lent him. A few books were piled on the bedside table, most from Stiles’ collection downstairs but a few he didn’t recognize. Somehow, even though Isaac didn’t take up the room like some guests did, this felt like Isaac’s space.

“What do you want, Stiles?”

“I want to understand.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how much I really don’t get you, Isaac.”

“Excuse me?”

“Friday, we were perfectly fine. You were flirting with me. You fucking kissed me! You kissed me, and then. Then, fuck if I know, but something happened, because you’ve absolutely been ignoring me and acting like we are absolutely nothing.”

“We are nothing, Stiles.”

“No, we aren’t. Don’t do that.”

“I like you. You’re funny, and nice, and smart, and hot as hell, but you’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t like me the same way.”

“How have I done that, exactly?” Stiles snapped.

“You’re with Lydia, for one, who is perfect in like every way that never could be. And you ran away from me after the kiss like I was contagious! It’s clear that you and I just need to maintain space for the remainder of my stay, since I’m just a kid in need.”

“Kid in nee- Isaac,” Stiles started. Isaac was shaking his head, turning away.

“Please leave,” he said formally, putting his back to Stiles. Stiles left, his stomach dropped into his shoes. He felt sick. He hadn’t meant Isaac to hear him talking to Lydia, and worst of all, he hadn’t meant what he’d said, and now there was this wedge between them.

It was all his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry! College Kid Kathryn would like to solemnly apologize for her delay! Also! College Kid Kathryn has a new url! You can now find her at deputy-heart-eyes.tumblr.com :)  
> Also, a reminder that if I am taking too long to update, you can always nudge me here or on Tumblr, and I will get back to writing just as soon as I get done with my College Kid responsibilities.   
> DFTBA!


	11. Chapter 11

**Overall 1/5**

We arrived on a 96 degree day. There was no air conditioning, and the ceiling fan was too slow to move any air, let alone cool it. I was surprised that the owner/manager didn't provide any other fans. It was hot, stale, and disgusting in the room--at least a window fan would have helped. The owner/manager acted put out with us and certainly didn't offer any solutions to make us more comfortable. I had to beg for bottled water. I asked politely for a partial refund. The owner scoffed and rudely told me that it was a country property and I couldn't expect the Hilton. The Hilton?! All I wanted was a decent fan! Later, he said he'd offer some sort of special for a return visit, but I'd never risk another stay there! On a positive note, the gardens on the property were quite pretty and the breakfast was decent. Wish that was enough!

 

Stiles slept awfully that night, fitfully tossing and turning, trying to get his mind to come up with some solution to fix what he’d broken. He dozed for an hour or two before his alarm clock woke him up just after sunrise. He didn’t have any guests coming but he had slacked off his duties the day before and with spring coming up fast, he couldn’t afford to lose any more time because he broke his own heart over Isaac Lahey.

He cleaned up the kitchen he’d abandoned after dinner, which Isaac didn’t attend. He started up a load of personal laundry, throwing his father’s uniform in for his afternoon shift, and tidied up the den where there were books and movies strewn everywhere. He braved cleaning the rooms that had been occupied over the weekend, glancing nervously at the Gooseberry Room’s closed door every time he passed with dirtied sheets.

Isaac didn’t peek out or so much as make a single noise in his room the entire time.

Stiles didn’t bother making breakfast, since his father wouldn’t be awake for several hours, Isaac wouldn’t join him anyway (even though the boy had to be starving by now) and he didn’t feel like eating. He just went about his day like Isaac had never been there, even though everything in his chest was screaming at him for acting like Isaac was nothing, because that was what had gotten them into this in the first place.

Sometime around noon after three loads of laundry were done and his father had rolled out of bed for his first pot of coffee, Stiles marched back upstairs and knocked on Isaac’s door. Isaac made no sound or movement inside.

“Isaac, come on, you have to eat sometime.”

Isaac didn’t respond.

Stiles pressed his ear close to the door and listened for some kind of sign that Isaac was inside, but couldn’t hear a thing, not even the ceiling fan or the tell-tale creak of the bedframe. He twisted the knob before he could second-guess himself and let the door swing inward.

And nobody was inside.

Isaac wasn’t in his room, and neither was his stuff.

Stiles stared, longer than he should’ve, trying to process just what was happening, or rather what _wasn’t_ happening. He blinked and backed up, heading to each room, throwing open the doors to find empty rooms. He threw himself down the stairs, taking them three at a time and swinging into the check-in area, the den, trying the laundry room and then all of the back rooms.

“What’s wrong?” the Sheriff asked as Stiles passed through the kitchen in a flurry of movement.

“Isaac’s gone.”

The Sheriff nodded and stood from the island, sleep still dragging at his features, despite his coffee mug being empty.

“I’ll call Parrish and tell him to keep an eye and an ear out for anyone matching Isaac’s description,” he said, grabbing Stiles’ arm as he tried to slip out the side door to the porch. “Look, Stiles, the best thing you can do is to stay here, and take care of the Inn. Don’t worry too much, either. I’ll call Parrish, and I’ll start my shift early. Call Lydia, or Scott. Have them come over after school to get your mind off this.”

“It’s my fault he left,” Stiles said to his father’s socked feet. He couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff sighed.

“What if he gets hurt, or lost, and it’s my fault because I was so stupid?”

“Stiles, what did you do?”

“I like him so much, and I lied to Lydia about liking him, and Isaac heard, and it’s all my fault.”

The Sheriff wrapped Stiles in his arms, letting Stiles tuck himself into his protection.

“We’ll find him, Stiles, and you can set everything straight. Just stay here, okay?”

Stiles nodded and the Sheriff stepped away. He fixed Stiles with a look, the one that said “do exactly what I told you to do or you’re grounded for a month,” before he headed to get dressed.

Stiles stumbled to the desk and picked up the phone, dialing Scott’s cell phone from memory.

“Stiles?” he answered after two rings.

“Scott, I fucked up,” Stiles whispered.

“Okay, just breathe, and I’ll be there before last period. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Call me if you need me to come sooner. I can get Allison’s notes if I need to. Remember that. Call me.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you soon, bro.”

Stiles hung up and collapsed into his chair. He needed to distract himself. He opened up Google Chrome on his desktop, went to Wikipedia, and dove in, following links down into the depths, reading about things he didn’t think anyone in the world cared about. It was like that game some people on the internet play, where they start at a random article and then try and get to a specific article in the least amount of clicks, except he read through all of the information before he clicked through.

He was reading about the colonization of the moon and the Moon Capital Competition when the phone beside him rang, startling him out of his daze.

“Berry Hill Gardens Bed and Breakfast, this is Stiles,” he answered, clicking out of Wikipedia and automatically opening his program for bookings and reservations.

“Stiles, it’s me,” his father said.

“Oh, hey, any sign of him?”

“Yeah. Parrish was on patrol and reported a boy matching Isaac’s description getting into an old Ford on the outskirts of town.”

“Oh, god.”

“It’s fine, Stiles. I had Parrish run the plates, and the car is registered to Samuel Lahey, Isaac’s father.”

“Dad, Isaac’s father beats him,” Stiles replied.

“Oh.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

“He’s not within my jurisdiction, Stiles. I’m sorry.”

Stiles sighed.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

 

-&-

 

Scott stepped into the foyer to find Stiles sitting on the floor, staring at the paper in his hands.

“Hey Stiles,” he said cautiously, a tone Stiles knew he used on animals at the clinic, “what’re you doing down there?”

Stiles traced the letters with his eyes again.

“Isaac’s gone. I fucked everything up and he left this morning or last night, and he went home.”

Scott sank to the floor in front of Stiles, his bag _thunk_ ing to the ground beside him.

“What happened?”

“I kissed him, or, he kissed me, actually.”

“So, you kissed, and he ran off? You’re not that bad of a kisser.”

Stiles snorted.

“No, I said something to Lydia and Isaac overheard, I guess, and he took it personally. And I drove him out of safety and back to his father to be treated like less than a human being.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?”

Stiles shook his head.

“There’s nothing that my dad or the deputies can do. I’ve fucked it up.”

“Then, fix it,” Scott said.

“There’s nothing my dad or the deputies can do,” Stiles repeated slowly, like he was talking to a child.

“Stiles, since when does that stop you? The Stiles I grew up with would’ve found his way around the law by now and gotten Isaac out of there.”

“I don’t even know where Isaac lives. I don’t know what town. I don’t know what street. I don’t know anything about him.”

“Yeah, but I know you know how to figure that out.”

“How?”

Scott shrugged.

“That’s not my area of expertise, bro. You’re the one with the plans, right?”

Stiles looked at the paper again, a print-out of the system that saved information of check-ins and check-outs.

“What’s that?” Scott asked, nudging it.

“Derek Hale,” Stiles answered. “He booked the room for Isaac online, and I have all of his information.”

“So?”

“Derek was getting Isaac out of his home, was trying to get him some place safe.”

“Okay, still not getting it.”

Stiles leapt up and headed for the phone, pulling it off the cradle and dialing. It rang twice before a gruff answered, “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Derek Hale?”

“Yes, how did you get this number?”

“My name’s Stiles, I’m the owner of the Berry Hill Gardens Bed and Breakfast,” Stiles answered.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Isaac Lahey has been staying here?”

“Why are you calling me? Did something happen? Is Isaac alright?”

“Something did happen, and that’s exactly why I’m calling you.”

 

-&-

 

The doorbell rang twice before Stiles could make it from the kitchen to the front door, both with alarming urgency.

He grumbled and pulled open the door, not knowing what to expect on the other side. He didn’t have any mid-week bookings, and he doubted anyone was travelling that needed a room for the night. And even though his heart hoped and prayed that when he swung open the door, there would be Isaac, he knew that that was highly unlikely.

What he found on the other side was tall, dark, and thick-eyebrowed.

“Are you Stiles Stilinski?” the stranger grumbled.

“Yes.”

“Derek Hale.”

“Wow, I didn’t expect you to come here. I thought you’d go straight to Isaac.”

“I will, but Isaac wouldn’t go back to his father just for any reason. What did you do that made Isaac call his father and ask to come home?”

“I didn’t,” Stiles stuttered.

“You had better start talking because that boy’s physical, mental, and emotional well-being are my job, and you fucked that up.”

“Yeah, I did,” Stiles breathed, nodding.

“Start talking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> College Kid Kathryn here with a brand new chapter!  
> I apologize for the wait!  
> I hope you are ready for the happenings to happen in the next chapter!


	12. Chapter 12

**Overall 4/5**

I read some reviews before staying and I don’t understand what some people’s problems are - this is a very comfortable, homey B&B. Everything worked nicely - bathrooms are clean and nicely appointed, beds are what is to be expected when you stay at a B&B. Breakfast was filling, with nice fresh fruit, as well as eggs, sausage, and good coffee. Is this place the Four Seasons? No, of course not. But to complain about "absolute silence"??? That was the BEST part of this B&B - the absolute serenity of the location. Nary a car goes by all day on the gravel road. The grounds are quite beautiful, with tons of flowers, a great vista looking south, and a nice pond. "Uneven flooring"??? It's an old country home for crying out loud!! If you're looking for a homey, relaxing, ultra-quiet place in the country far from any excitement, this place would be tough to beat.

 

“You’re an idiot,” Derek told Stiles as he turned off the main highway that connected Beacon Hills to Isaac’s hometown.

“I’ve been told before,” Stiles replied, picking at the hem of his shirt. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t going to save Isaac from his father,” Derek said.

“It’s not like I said it to his face, or did it to intentionally hurt him! It was something dumb I said to my girlfriend!”

“Maybe next time you should think about what you say before just running your mouth.”

Stiles bristled.

“I get that you’re worried about Isaac, but you don’t have to be a dick about something when you have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“You have no clue what _you’re_ talking about. It wasn’t just something dumb you said to your girlfriend. Isaac doesn’t talk to me about boys, but he would not shut up about you. You are important to him, and you saying that he’s nothing, just a kid in need,” Derek said, and Stiles could tell he had to actively keep himself from snarling at Stiles. “You said that, and it affirmed everything his father has taught him, that he’s worthless, and no one wants him. I am responsible for that kid, and you just destroyed him enough that he didn’t care if he went back to his father. Do you understand what that means?”

Stiles didn’t reply.

Derek shook his head.

“I don’t even know why I brought you. You’re probably going to fuck it up more.”

“You’re not the only person in this car worried about him, okay?”

“Well, fucking act like it.”

They rode in silence until Derek pulled in front of a nondescript one-story white typical suburban home and turned the car off.

“This is the Lahey house?” Stiles asked.

“No.”

He unclipped his seatbelt, pulled the keys from the ignition and got out. Stiles, confused, followed him down the block, a few paces back so he could look around while they walked. It looked no different than the neighborhood Scott had grown up in, but this was Isaac’s neighborhood, and Isaac’s childhood was completely different from Scott’s.

Although, Stiles thought, their fathers were both raging douchebags.

They could bond over that sometime.

Derek casually veered off the sidewalk and down between two houses until they came to a sad backyard, an old swing set sagging from neglect, a baseball bat rusting against a shed, the doors hanging open slightly. The house wasn’t rundown, but it wasn’t well-attended either. It just was.

“That it?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, we need to make sure Sam isn’t home,” Derek said just as Stiles took off at a run towards the house. Lacrosse and track had made him an excellent sprinter, even if his running was a bit, as Lydia had lovingly put it, unconventionally inconvenient. “Stiles!”

The lawn crunched underneath his feet, fragile and dying grass, even though Stiles knew that it had rained here just as much as it had in Beacon Hills. Stiles dashed up the back steps and pulled the door open without thinking. He had to make sure Isaac was okay, his own safety be damned.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” a voice asked, more garbled than clear words. Stiles turned to find a man in his late forties, glass perched crookedly on his nose, eyes glassy behind them, with a whiskey bottle half empty dangled from his fingers.

“Uhhh,” Stiles stuttered. “You must be Samuel. Hi. I’m Stiles.”

 Isaac’s father snarled at him and started towards him. Stiles backed up, rounding furniture until his back hit a door. He regretted acting so rashly. He had to stop just rushing into things, think first.

He never had.

He decided to graduate early without discussing it with anyone.

He applied to the local community college without discussing that with anyone, either.

He’d done a lot without considering the consequences.

And now he was here, staring down the bottle of a known drunk and abuser.

For Isaac, he reminded himself, steeling his gut.

“You’re here for Isaac, aren’t you? He’s not here,” he slurred. Even though Stiles knew better, knew that Isaac’s dad had picked Isaac up just outside Beacon Hills, his stomach clenched in fear that Isaac actually _wasn’t_ here. Derek burst through the back door after Stiles, gun out and pointed at the floor. Stiles wasn’t even aware that Derek had a gun on him, but faced with Samuel Lahey, he understood now why he might.

“Samuel,” Derek said evenly, moving to stand between them.

“Well, well, looks like you brought a little backup, kid. Derek,” Samuel said with a sneer. “Here to play the hero again, huh?”

“Where is he?” Stiles asked, not daring to move out from behind Derek.

“I think you know exactly where he is.”

Stiles glanced around. Isaac had mentioned a freezer, but not much else. He didn’t know where the freezer was, or if Isaac was inside it.

“Find Isaac,” Derek ordered. “Check downstairs. The basement door is to your left.”

Stiles nodded and, with shaky hands, got the door to the basement open and hurried down the creaking wooden steps. Isaac had told him about the freezer before they kissed, but faced with it now, lid down and padlock latched, it was so much worse than he imagined. His stomach twisted as Stiles fumbled towards it and placed his hands on the plastic.

“Isaac, can you hear me?”

“Stiles? Stiles, is that you?”

“Yeah, Isaac. It’s me. I’m here to get you out of here. I’m sorry I said that thing, and-”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you get me out of here first?”

Stiles leapt up and searched around for a key. He didn’t find it, but he did come across an axe which would work just as well. He picked it up, weighted it in his hands, before raising it and smashing it down on the padlock just hard enough for it to break and tumble to the floor. The axe fell from his hands and he pushed the lid of the freezer up.

Isaac was curled in on himself, trying to fit his over 6 foot height into a much smaller container, staring up at Stiles with blinking eyes.

“You came for me,” he said as Stiles reached cautiously into the freezer to offer his hand.

“I always will.”

Isaac took Stiles’ hand and climbed out of the freezer.

“You’re bleeding,” Stiles said, reaching up with his free hand to touch the edge of a cut along Isaac’s cheekbone. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay now,” Isaac answered. Stiles’ fingers skirted to Isaac’s swollen lip, split and throbbing. “Really.”

“I really want to kiss you right now, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

Isaac leaned in and rested his forehead against Stiles’.

“I’m sorry for what I said. You’re not a kid in need. You are the furthest from just a kid in need. You’re important to me, and it scares me how much you mean to me. Because I’ve never felt like this about _anyone_ , and especially not this fast. I mean, I barely know you, and then you weren’t around and I felt wrong. I felt like something was missing.”

Isaac’s hand came up to rest on Stiles’ cheek, thumb swiping across his skin.

“Stiles, did you find him?” Derek called, coming down the stairs. Stiles sighed and lifted his head to look over Isaac’s shoulder at Derek who reached the landing. “Ahh. Alright, come on. I had a nice little _chat_ with Sam about him not letting anyone know you’re gone, Isaac, so it’s time to go now.”

Isaac kept hold of Stiles’ hand and led them both out of the basement, chin raised up proudly in a way that made Stiles grin. When he met Isaac, he hunched his shoulders, tried to make himself smaller, and tried to hide. This Isaac, though, drawn up to his full height, his shoulders back and his head high, was a wonderful sight to behold. Together they marched past Samuel Lahey who sat at the kitchen table, taking long pulls straight from the bottle of whiskey, their hands intertwined.

“This time, you stay gone,” Sam said, as Derek walked them to the front entrance. Stiles frowned. Sam was the one that picked Isaac up, and brought him back.

“Hold on,” Isaac said, pulling his hand from Stiles’. “I’ll be right back.”

Isaac disappeared through a door off the living room, leaving Stiles and Derek with Sam who seemed to be trying to drown himself in the bottle. Isaac reappeared a couple minutes later with a thick backpack settled on his shoulders.

“I’m good. Let’s go.”

Stiles reached out and Isaac took his hand.

“Bye, Dad,” Isaac said, pausing in the doorway. Samuel didn’t reply, and Stiles tugged on Isaac’s hand. Isaac pulled the door shut and let out a slow breath. “God, why does this hurt _so_ _much_? He made my life hell. He locked me in a freezer. He, why does this hurt, Stiles?”

“Because, he’s your dad. He’s family. And it’s okay that it hurts. It’s more than okay. He was all the family you’ve had for a while and leaving that behind, no matter how abusive that environment is, is going to be hard. But you’ve got me, and you’ve got Derek, and we’re gonna make sure you’re okay.” 

 

-&-

 

Stiles and Isaac sat in the back of Derek’s car, sides pressed flush against each other even though there was enough room for them to each have their own side. Derek had rolled his eyes at them when they’d both slid into the back, even though the front was empty and available. Stiles wanted to be close to Isaac, and Isaac hadn’t let go of his hand yet.

He had to break up with Lydia.

He had to figure out where Isaac was going to stay now that he was out of his father’s house and not running away from him, because he was almost 100% sure that the Sheriff would not allow Stiles and Isaac to date and be under the same roof until they were 18 and consenting adults.

He had to _break up_ with _Lydia Martin_.

He wasn’t entirely sure that someone of his, well, someone like him was allowed to break up with someone like Lydia.

He pulled out his phone, head lolled to the side and resting on Isaac’s shoulder, and typed out a text.

 **I need you to break up with me** , it read.

Isaac nudged Stiles.

“What’s that mean?” he asked, nodding to the text now sitting sent in Stiles’ conversation with Lydia.

**You finally get it together, Stilinski?**

He didn’t have a chance to respond before another and then another message popped up.

**Or rather, did you finally get it, Stilinski?**

**I’m hilarious. Why are you trying to break up with me????**

Stiles shook his head and dialed

“So, you and Isaac together yet?” Lydia answered.

“Should you be asking your boyfriend if he’s gotten together with someone else with such a hopeful tone, Lydia Martin?”

“Should you be falling in love with someone else when you have a girlfriend, Stiles Stilinski?”

Stiles paused, shrugged, and replied, “Yeah, fair point. But see, you’re the-”

“Stiles, if you want to be with Isaac, I won’t stand in your way. I want you to be as happy as you can be, and I know Isaac will make you happy. So, Stiles Stilinski, this is the end of our relationship. It’s not me, it’s you.”

Stiles laughed.

“You are a goddess, Lydia Rose.”

“Go, kiss Isaac for me. Be happy. I’ll see you this weekend.”

 “Bye,” Stiles said fondly and they hung up. Stiles tucked his phone into his pocket, turned to Isaac and was met with a grin.

“No girlfriend?”

“Not anymore.”

Isaac leaned into Stiles and kissed him as well as he could manage with a split lip. It lasted only a few moments, but Stiles grinned as they broke apart. Isaac’s face was lit up as well, blue eyes sparkling.

“I’ve been wanting to do that,” Isaac said quietly.

“I’ve been wanting you to do that.”

 

-&-

 

Derek and the Sheriff, along with Melissa, had come to an agreement that Isaac was not going to be staying at the Inn any longer.

“Especially,” the Sheriff had said, giving Stiles a significant look, “because I know what my son can get up to behind my back.”

Isaac was staying in the McCalls’ spare room, although he spent most of his time at the Inn anyway. Scott dropped Isaac off at the inn every morning before he headed to school, where Stiles and Isaac made out most of the day while Stiles was supposed to do his job, and Scott would bring him back to the McCall house after Scott finished his homework at the Inn.

“Stiles,” Isaac laughed as Stiles walked him backwards into the counter. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“The next guest isn’t due in until tomorrow,” Stiles replied, standing on his toes and kissing him. Isaac eased Stiles back but placated him with a quick kiss.

“Everyone is coming for dinner tonight, and they expect to be fed.”

Stiles whined.

“I think we can wait an extra five minutes before we have to start,” Stiles bargained. Isaac was so warm against him, his hands on Stiles’ hips, lips so close.

“Five minutes to you is not five minutes for the rest of us,” Isaac replied. Stiles laughed.

“It’s still five minutes. Come on, babe,” Stiles begged. “I like kissing you. Can’t I just always do that?”

Isaac kissed Stiles and rolled him over so Stiles had his lower back pressed hard into the counter. Isaac, Stiles had noticed, liked having the upper hand, the ability to stop things or back away if they got too much. Stiles liked giving Isaac that upper hand, just to make him feel safe. He hadn’t been much of a top before, and he didn’t believe he would change anytime soon. He didn’t want to, if it meant Isaac kept pressing him into walls and counters and mattresses.

“We have to make dinner,” Isaac reminded Stiles, drawing back.

“ _We_ have to make dinner?”

“You’ve been trying to get me in the kitchen since I came here. I wanna cook with you.”

Stiles grinned and bounced eagerly in place, his nerve endings hot with excitement as possibilities raced through his mind.

“What do you want to make?” Stiles asked, ducking out from behind Isaac to grab a cookbook from the shelf. He left it open on the counter and checked the fridge and pantry for ingredients.

“Well, we could make a casserole and have time to make out,” Stiles offered. “Plus, it’s easy and is certainly enough for the pack of wolves coming over her tonight.”

“What’s the other option?”

“Turkey burgers and potato salad,” Stiles replied.

“Casserole. I want the time to make out.”

Stiles grabbed Isaac’s hand and pulled him around the counter. He handed him a series of ingredients from the pantry and then the freezer and fridge. Once he had everything he needed in a neat pile on the counter, he pressed a kiss into Isaac’s lips.

“Okay, you don’t get to use a knife this time,” Stiles said. He turned Isaac into the counter. “The recipe calls for a can of biscuits, but I need you to mix up some dough.”

Isaac nodded.

“I’m good at dough. Nothing sharp or hot.”

Stiles grinned and handed Isaac the box of biscuit mix. He grabbed a mixing bowl and measuring cup before kissing Isaac again.

“Do me proud, baby.”

 Stiles started with the rest, preheating the oven and then chopping peppers and mushrooms.

“What now?”

Stiles checked on the dough and kissed Isaac’s cheek. He handed Isaac the baking dish, the bottom coated with taco sauce.

“Dish out small biscuits into the bottom and roll them in the sauce, and we’ll go from there.”

They continued to work in tandem, Stiles dealing with anything sharp or hot, since the last time with the cantaloupe incident hadn’t gone so well. But then, it also had gone really well in regards to the kissing situation.

Finally, Stiles slid the baking dish into the oven and set the timer.

“Would you like to accompany me into the bedroom?” Stiles asked, dragging fingers down Isaac’s sides.

“If your father catches us, he will kill us.”

“You’ve got better hearing than me. You’ll stop us in time.”

Isaac slid his hand into Stiles’ and led them into the back hall and into the bedroom. Stiles lay down on the bed and gestured for Isaac to come to him. Isaac crawled on the bed and hovered over Stiles with a beautiful smile.

“What?” Stiles asked with his own.

“Just a few weeks ago, I thought I’d never be out from my dad’s thumb. I thought I’d be stuck there forever. And here we are. I’m free from him. I’ve got you. I have friends, and someone who wants me home at a certain time. It’s just, it’s nice. I’m happy.”

Stiles dragged Isaac into the mattress beside him.

“Isaac, this is everything you deserve. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to have friends, someone who wants you home. You deserve everything happiness that the world can give you.”

“Do I deserve you?”

“You deserve much better than me, but lucky for you, I’m territorial and don’t want anyone else to have you.”

Isaac smiled.

“I don’t want anyone else to have you, either,” Isaac replied.

Stiles rested his hand on Isaac’s jaw and stroked along it with his thumb.

“Of all of the bed and breakfasts in all of the towns, in all of the world, he walks into mine,” he said quietly to himself before kissing Isaac. They laid together, licking casually into each other’s mouths as they kissed, legs entangled, laughing and talking easily. They laid happily until Isaac raised his head.

“Time to meet the wolves.”

Stiles dragged Isaac out of bed, kissing him teasingly to draw him back into the kitchen.

“There they are,” Scott said, leading Allison and Lydia in through the side door. “I told you they’d be decent, if only because Isaac is one half of this relationship.”

“I want to be offended,” Stiles said. “But the amount of times I’ve been caught with my literal pants down is numerous and damning.”

Stiles checked on the casserole before he got out all of the place settings.

“Scott,” he said, gesturing to the table.

“Yes, master. Right away, master,” Scott said, hunching himself over and dragging his leg. Allison hung up her purse and jacket by the door and moved to help Scott, stopping to kiss Stiles fondly on the cheek. The timer for the oven buzzed while Stiles was moving things around in the fridge, looking for the sour cream.

“Lyds, can you-”

Lydia answered by grabbing a pot holder and removing the baking dish carefully from the oven.

“Have you had a group dinner like this before?” Isaac asked.

“Not really. Why?”

“Scott and Allison set the places really well. Lydia can anticipate what you need before you ask. It just seems like you guys have perfected this.”

“Not all at once,” Lydia answered, ducking under Stiles and pointing to the sour cream. She pulled the pitcher of cucumber water from the fridge and carried it into the dining room. “We’ve all been here when Stiles had guests. We helped out wherever he directed us. And we got used to where he would direct us. Scott sets the places, Allison gets out the glasses, and I make sure Stiles isn’t overworking himself or forgetting to turn off the oven.”

Stiles leaned from where he stood by the fridge to click off the oven.

“What do I do?” Isaac asked quietly, watching the group with uncertain eyes.

“You made the food, or half of it at least. And you keep the cook company. But even if you didn’t do anything, I’ll still keep you. Those three have to work for their dinner, but the boyfriend gets his meals for free.”

“For free, huh?”

“Well, there might be a small fee, but I accept payment in all sorts of ways. Debit, credit, traveler’s check, kisses.”

“Is that for all guests, or just the ones you cuddle?”

“Special treatment for the guests I cuddle,” Stiles said. “And for movie stars. But we’ve yet to have one of those.”

Isaac hummed.

The side door opened again. The Sheriff, Melissa, and Derek strolled through, chatting leisurely.

“Hey Dad,” Stiles said. He hadn’t tried to cut the recipe down in fat or calories, except for exchanging the hamburger for lean turkey, but he figured everyone deserved a break from their diet sometimes. Even his father. “Dinner’s almost ready, if everyone wants to get washed up.”

One by one, the group washed their hands in the kitchen sink and took their seats at the table until it was just Stiles in the kitchen. He looked out over his so-called pack of wolves. His father sat at the end of the table, laughing with Melissa and Derek on either side of him. Allison sat beside Melissa, her foot entwined with Scott’s beside her, while Lydia sat beside Derek, enjoying, it seemed, a quiet conversation with Isaac on her other side.

He smiled to himself, lifting the dish and carrying it to the table, serving spoon shoved into the pocket of his jeans. He set the dish on the table and took his seat across from his father, his best friend and his boyfriend- his boyfriend, he couldn’t get over that, how he had someone like Isaac who he could call his- at either of his elbows. Stiles handed the serving spoon to Scott and set off a chain reaction of ravenous ladling, followed by quiet feeding that incited moans of pleasure. Stiles grinned and served himself last.

This was exactly what he’d always wanted, a house full of family and friends, his hand held by someone beautiful that he loved, and the sound of happy conversation filling his big home. Maybe he wouldn’t always want to own his inn. Maybe someday he would sell the place and move to a big city. Maybe he and Isaac would need their own space for their own family.

Maybe…

But that was a long time from that moment, Isaac’s hand in his, and Stiles didn’t know what the future held for him, for them, for anyone at that table. He just knew that he was willing to wait for the future if he could have this moment, this night, this table, this hand in his. The future could wait, he reckoned. Whatever was meant to happen would happen.

After all, there is no never, just long periods of not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks!  
> I'm glad you liked it! Or at least tolerated it because you had to know what happened. I dunno, I'm like that sometimes.  
> I'm also rambly at times, so forgive me.  
> If you did like it, comments, kudos, bookmarks, shares are all appreciated ;)
> 
> DFTBA


End file.
